The Standing-Stone Of The Sigin-Tarâg
by Whisper-norbury
Summary: War comes to the Lonely Mountain; and when the smoke clears and the blood is washed away, Fíli finds that some battles are never truly won, only survived. - Ch. 3: As the Battle nears its end, Fíli finds himself counted among the dead.
1. To Arms

NOTE: This story will contain heavy **SPOILERS** for _The Hobbit_ in general and _The Battle Of The Five Armies_ in particular.

This is based in the Hobbit cinematic universe. The primary focus of this fiction will deal with Fíli surviving the Battle Of The Five Armies, but there will be character deaths in future chapters. As such, there is a K+ rating for this chapter only. It will be significantly increased in future installments.

PART ONE

**TO ARMS**

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Fíli had expected that the first time he stepped into the halls of his people he would feel a wave of pride wash over him, that he would have to pause and take in the beauty of it all — the carved stone pillars reaching up and out of sight, the mirror-smooth tile floors, the never-ending rush of the River Running. That was how Thorin had described it to him and Kíli when they were young, that was the image that had stayed with them throughout their trek to Erebor.

What he and the others found was more akin to a dungeon.

The walls were clawed and crumbling, the once-great stone kings had been pulled from their pedestals and crushed under Smaug's feet, and the air still stank of his foul breath. All around, the sound of rocks falling from the tall ceiling echoed, and from somewhere not so far away they could hear water flowing, but it sounded slow and thick, as if it were choked with slime.

The beauty remained there somewhere, he knew — it was buried under the rubble that the dragon had left in its wake, and perhaps they would someday find it again. But that would take time and many more hands, and at the moment they had neither. Still, after all they had gone through, it was a relief to be there at all, and the even greater relief of finding the Company alive forced the disappointment of their reclaimed home's condition to the back of Fíli's mind.

Of course, there was also the matter of the two armies marching in behind them.

_"Those poor fools were the first to die," _Bard had said, trying to convince the Dwarves that heading for Erebor would be a mistake. _"Smaug burned them, then came to us for his revenge."_

But Fíli had refused to believe him without proof, and planned to leave as soon as Kíli's leg was healed enough for him to walk the long road. By that time, however, the Elvenking had shown up with a great number of armored Elves, and while Fíli and the others had feared that he would recapture and lock them away for good, Thranduil simply offered aid to the Men of the Lake and ignored the Dwarves almost completely.

Whispers rose, though, among the Men that the Elves were planning on marching on the Mountain to claim it, and Bard had struck up what seemed to be a fast friendship with the Elvenking and was spending many hours speaking with him in private. Soon, the rumors became shouts, and all able-bodied Men began kitting themselves out for what may have been a recovery operation — or may have been a siege. So far, even the Men seemed not to know exactly what they were readying themselves for, only that was that Smaug was dead and the treasure in the Mountain was now unguarded.

_"We leave as soon as it gets dark," _Fíli had told Óin, Bofur, and Kíli when they'd managed a quiet moment away from Elvish ears._ "We get to the Mountain before them and find the Company."_

And so they had left just after sundown, but when dawn came they could see a cloud of dust being sent up not more than a couple miles behind — evidence of the Men and Elves already marching out. Fíli tried to urge his companions to move more quickly, but Kíli's leg was in pain and they were all tired from the past few sleepless days. Still, they rushed on as fast as they could, noting by the time they reached Erebor that the battalions behind them would soon be in sight.

Without knowing quite what to expect, the group made their way up the crumbled path to the gate, seeing before they even got there that a barricade had been built across it. A tuft of red hair popped up over the stones, then disappeared again.

A moment later, Glóin's voice called out to them. "Alive! Well, I just knew you lads would be! Takes more than a little dragon fire to kill off a group as stubborn as you!"

Fíli and the others, urged on by the thrill of finding at least one of their number still alive, rushed up and over the barricade, Fíli stopping atop it for a moment to reach down and give Kíli a hand up. When they were all over the side, Glóin smiled and slapped Óin on the shoulder.

"Welcome home, brother!"

Off to the corner of the ledge they saw Bombur, smiling wide and fairly bouncing with joy. He let out a hearty laugh, then bounded over to his own brother and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing the thinner Dwarf tightly and lifting him right off his feet.

"Okay, thank you…" Bofur squeaked breathlessly. "Yes, it's good to see you, too!"

A chuckle came from just within the shattered gate, and they all looked over as Balin came striding into the light, his hands held out in front of him. "Well, now, this is wonderful!"

Fíli reached out and clasped the older Dwarf's wrist — a gesture that was eagerly returned. "Is everybody alright?"

"A little singed and a little sore, but all alive and… mostly well." He looked at Kíli. "And you, laddie? Your leg?'

"A lot better," Kíli said, then quickly changed the subject. "Where is my uncle? We need to speak with him."

"It is rather urgent," Óin added.

Balin tugged on his long white beard for a moment before turning to go back into the Mountain. "Come with me."

Bombur squeezed his brother a little tighter, then let go and Bofur landed hard on his feet. He took a deep breath before patting Bombur's shoulder and running in after Balin. Óin and Kíli followed, and Fíli went in last of all, taking one more look back over his shoulder towards where the distant group of Elves and Men must be marching.

"Thorin's been… well, he's been busy," Balin's voice drifted back along the walls of the ruined hall.

"Busy doing what?" Bofur asked, his voice still hoarse from his brother's enthusiastic hug.

"Searching for the Arkenstone." It was Fíli that spoke up, and the others looked back at him briefly.

Balin nodded, but said nothing. Not that anything needed to be said on the matter. Fíli and the others knew full well what that jewel meant to Thorin, what it meant to his father and grandfather, what it meant to all of the Sigin-tarâg — the Longbeards.

Thorin had described it in detail to Fíli and Kíli when they were younger, but, of the company, few had ever been near it in person. Balin and Dwalin had seen it often, of course, and Óin claimed to have glimpsed it once or twice, but of them all, only Thorin had ever been known to come close enough to touch it.

_"It was like a rush of cut gems running up my fingers and into my arm," _he'd told his nephews once when they had begged him to describe it._ "It was cold, but it burned… like holding onto an icy bar of metal long enough for your skin to freeze to it. But when I took my hand away there was no damage at all, just a lingering cold. A pain… but that… all that was in an instant. My fingers touched it for barely a second, but the sensation stayed, and I could feel it for hours after." _He had then paused and looked at his hand._ "Sometimes, I still can."_

Fíli looked ahead of them at the darkened corridor, and in the far distance he could see a yellow light. As they drew closer, the light became more intense, and when, at last, they came to the end, everybody stopped and stared.

The great hall—Thrór's treasure-room, Fíli realized—was bathed in a shimmering brilliance. Here and there, fires had been stoked up, and the light from them reflected off the silver, gold, and gems that were piled all around. The illumination shifted and danced as the remainder of the Company milled about, setting the hills of coins sliding like small avalanches.

"Thorin!" Balin cried out.

Far off, a kneeling figure lifted his head. "Have you found it?"

Balin walked deeper into the room, motioning for the others to follow him. "No, but I have found something else of value!"

Thorin stared for a moment, then smiled and stood. He walked over to Kíli, who was stumbling over the treasure at his feet, and placed a hand on either of his shoulders. "You've made it," he said, shaking his nephew happily, then he turned to Fíli and stood up tall and thrust his chest out. "What do you think?" he asked, looking around him.

"I think…" Fíli said, blinking against the glare. "This is a lot of gold."

"And there are greater treasures to be found," Thorin said, then again fell to his knees and resumed digging through the coins.

Fíli looked at the joyful, though tired faces now all around him. Óin and Kíli were both speaking in low voices, all the while motioning at the treasure, but Bofur was standing stock-still and slack-jawed.

"Never seen such a thing, eh?" Nori said.

Bofur's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head vigorously. "Can't say that I have."

"The first we saw of it, we were running through, away from Smaug," Dori said.

Fíli looked over at him quickly. "Smaug is dead."

"We saw the smoke rising from Laketown," Thorin said without looking up. "When the worm didn't return, we assumed he had been dealt with."

"Laketown is gone," Óin said softly. "But Bard managed still to take the beast down with single black arrow, straight through his armored hide."

"It wasn't completely armored," Bilbo said, stepping close. "There was a gap on his left breast."

"Then that is where the Bowman hit him. A perfect shot, worthy of his family's reputation. He has been heralded as a hero… there's talk of him being crowned king, once the…"

Thorin seemed to have had enough of listening to the chatter and stood, then pushed his way through the gathered crowd. "Keep looking."

Balin shook his head and placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "You've been awake for days. You should rest."

"Not until it is found."

"The dragon is dead. With or without the Arkenstone, none now would question your right to rule."

"I would question it," Thorin said, shrugging him off.

Dwalin pushed a golden bowl aside with his foot. "Perhaps that foul worm swallowed it."

"Then I will dive down to the bottom of Long Lake and cut it out of his belly."

Fíli watched his uncle's hands clench, then relax, and took a step towards him, but Balin gave him a warning glance and the younger Dwarf stopped.

"I need to speak with him," Fíli said, his voice low.

"I don't think now is the best time."

"There are…" Fíli started, intending on mentioning the approaching armies, but Thorin didn't give him the chance.

"That jewel is my family's legacy. It represents all that I am, all that my father and grandfather were. Whether it lies at the bottom of a steaming lake or somewhere deep under the dragon-fouled gold within this mountain, I will find it." He bent and brought up a handfull of coins. "And then I will feel no shame in calling myself king."

"Was your grandfather not the king before he took possession of it?" Balin asked.

Bilbo held up a nervous finger. "Um, Thorin… if…"

Thorin glared at him. "Had you done the job you were hired to do… had you found the Arkenstone and returned to to me, as you had been instructed…"

Bilbo let out a little squeak, then backed a couple steps away. "I was just…"

The Dwarf reached out and moved the lapel of Bilbo's jacket aside, revealing a fine silver mesh shirt below. "You have been given your first payment, burglar. Find the Arkenstone and you will receive the rest."

Fíli's eyes focussed on the shirt and found he could not look away. "Is that…"

"Mithril," Dwalin said, nodding. "Thorin found it shortly after we arrived. The Hobbit was the only one amongst us that it would fit."

Fíli shook his head. He had never seen more than a simple necklace made out of that precious metal, and he could only imagine what the shirt was worth. Clearly, Bilbo had no idea of its value, either, as he was keeping it hidden under layers of what were very nearly rags.

Bilbo shifted nervously from foot to foot, then cleared his throat. "I was just going to ask what the Arkenstone actually does. Is it just symbolic? To be honest, I don't know much about it, and…"

"It doesn't matter to you what it does," Thorin bellowed. "It matters only that it is recovered and returned to me, and should I find it in anyone's possession but my own, be they kith or kin, I will see them dead!"

Bilbo looked down. "Yes. I see. Right."

Fíli glanced around at the gathered group, who had all backed several steps away from Thorin. Various levels of fear played across their faces, from Balin's paternal concern to Bilbo's abject terror. Dori had even pulled Ori back behind himself, and now stood between him and Thorin protectively. Fíli had never seen his uncle have that effect on any of the Company. None of them had ever seen Thorin so obsessed, so angry. None of them had ever feared him.

Thorin turned his eyes again to the gold at his feet, but a yell from a distant doorway brought his and everyone else's attention around.

"Thorin!" Glóin hollered. He took a moment to catch his breath, having run all the way to the treasure room, then went on. "You are being called to the gate!"

"Called by whom?" Thorin demanded.

"Bard the Bowman and the Elvenking!"

Thorin squeezed the handful of gold in his palm, then threw it hard onto the pile. "What is Thranduil doing at my gate?"

"His people marched out from Laketown," Fíli said.

"And what was he doing in Laketown?"

"He went there to help after…" Kíli stopped suddenly.

"He was helping the Men recover from Smaug's attack," Fíli finished for his brother.

Thorin stood and tilted his head, staring deep into Fíli's eyes. "Was he, now?" he asked almost too calmly, then made his way towards the doorway. When he reached it, he turned half around and called back, "Keep looking, all of you! Dwalin! Come with me!" before vanishing into the darkness beyond.

Dwalin obeyed, and rest of the company watched until he was out of sight. Bilbo started tapping his finger against his jacket pocket and humming softly to himself, then did a little hop before setting off after Thorin and Dwalin.

"I need to…" he said, but his small voice was lost to the group the closer he got to the door.

Ori finally dared to step out from behind his brother. "What do we do now?

"We look for the Arkenstone," Balin said.

"There's so much to search through." Kíli slid his pack off his shoulder. "What if we don't find it?"

"Then we keep looking."

Fíli looked again towards the door that his uncle had walked out of. "And if we do find it?"

Balin let out a breath. "Then the king beneath the mountain shall come into his own."

—

"Just us? Against all of them?" Ori asked haltingly.

"Uncle, you can't just…" Kíli began, but Thorin silenced him with a look.

Not long after Thorin had been called away, the rest of the company had been sent for. They were all gathered together now, just inside the gate, listening fearfully as they were told to prepare for battle against the Men of the Lake and Thranduil's people, who had set up camp between the ruins of Dale and the Lonely Mountain.

"What is it they want?" Balin asked.

"They want what is ours," Thorin said. "And I will not let them have it."

"The orcs attacked us in Laketown," Bofur said, keeping his voice low. "If the Elves hadn't been there…"

Thorin shoved him aside and stepped out into the light, then looked over the barricade at the milling crowd. "Trying to serve their own ends, no doubt."

The others followed him out onto the ramparts, but stayed closer to the door.

"And Tauriel healing young Kíli's leg," Óin spoke up. "Was that, too, for her own benefit?"

Thorin tilted his head curiously at hearing this, then returned his attentions to the armies below. "Elves only ever serve their own ends." He tightened his jaw. "They measure time in centuries… those with shorter lives than their own matter little to them."

"You're wrong," Kíli said softly, then turned away from his uncle's fiery gaze.

"It was Bard that killed Smaug," Fíli said quickly, trying to get Thorin's attention away from Kíli. "If he hadn't, the dragon would be back here now."

"And if his ancestor had managed that a century ago, our home would never have been taken from us in the first place," Thorin said. "What Bard did, he did for his own people. That it meant Smaug would not return to the Mountain meant nothing to him. And now he sits at our gate with the foul Elvenking by his side, calling out for our property in recompense. I will not let him have it."

"Those at our gate have suffered Smaug's wrath, just as we have," Balin said. "The Men of Laketown have suffered and died… their families have suffered and died, just as ours did."

"The Elves did not suffer. Let them help their new _friends_, or they may leave and I will consider negotiations with Bard and the Men of the Lake, but I will not allow a single coin to leave these halls under threat of force," Thorin yelled, his voice echoing off the stone around them.

"Smaug was the enemy," Fíli said, finding himself braver for defending those that had helped them in Laketown. "Not the Elves."

Thorin grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the wall. "Thranduil and his people claimed to be our friends," he let go of Fíli and stepped back, "but left us to die when Smaug attacked."

"And so you would do the same with the Lakemen?" Balin asked, his voice low.

Thorin glowered at him. "If they are allied with the Elves, then let the Elves aid them," he drew his sword and pointed it at each of the company in turn. "And if you value their false friendship more than the kinship of your own people, then you may leave now. Join them, if you wish."

They all remained silent at the tip of his blade, so Thorin returned his sword to its sheath and straightened up proudly, before heading back into the Mountain. "Arm yourselves!"

"Right, then," Dwalin said after a long few moments, then started towards door and motioned for the others to follow. "This way to the armory. Bombur, stay on guard."

Bombur looked at him, then down at his less-than-battle-ready outfit.

"Don't worry," Bofur said to his brother as he followed Dwalin inside. "I'll see what I can find in your size."

"Though some adjustments may be needed," Glóin added with a laugh.

Soon, most of the company had vanished into the darkness of the Mountain, but Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo, and Balin hung back. After a few silent seconds, Fíli turned to speak with the Hobbit—to ask him if he was holding up well under the circumstances—but he was suddenly nowhere to be found.

"Where's Bilbo?"

Kíli glanced around. "He was just here. Did he go in after Thorin?"

"I guess he must have," Fíli said, shrugging.

"And I suppose we should do the same," Balin said, but he didn't yet take a step towards the door. He crossed his arms and looked over at the young brothers. "So, the Elves saved you?"

Kíli nodded. "Yes."

"Not Thranduil, himself, I assume."

"No. It was the one that took Thorin's sword in the forest," Kíli went on. "And Tauriel."

"The captain-of-the-guard," Fíli clarified.

"Ah," Balin said, nodding vigorously. "That was nice of them." He turned back to the gate and started inside. "Well, let's get to it, then."

Balin's delay in following after Thorin struck Fíli odd, but he did not yet say anything about it. Instead, he and Kíli walked behind him in respectful silence. At length, they came to a junction and stopped and listened. Up ahead, they could hear the echoing voices of the other Dwarves getting themselves ready for battle, but instead of heading that way, Balin turned to Kíli and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Would you mind terribly going on ahead?"

Kíli took a quick step back. "Why?"

Fíli's and Balin locked gazes, then the younger turned his eyes to the stone at their feet. "Kíli, would you…" He looked back up at his brother. "I need to speak with Balin in private."

"I don't understand."

Balin's knowing eyes stayed on Fíli. "I think it would be best."

Kíli drew his eyebrows together, then nodded and slowly began down the passageway after the others. When he had gone around the corner, out of their sight, Balin started down a side corridor.

"Where are we going?" Fíli asked, falling into step beside him, but when Balin didn't answer, he asked what he had been wanting to since they had first seen his uncle on his knees in the treasure room. "What's wrong with Thorin?"

"Eh?"

"He's changed."

"Aye," Balin said. "Power…" he winced, as if his choice of words stung him, then went on. "Responsibility has a way of changing people."

"Not for the better, it seems."

"Not always." Balin sighed. "But he is doing what he thinks is best for us. For all of us."

Fíli rested a hand on Balin's shoulder, trying to stop him, but Balin kept on walking, and Fíli didn't feel it was his place to pull the older Dwarf to a halt. Instead, he followed as Balin walked on for a couple more minutes in silence, first down one passage, then another, until at last stopping outside a finely-carved door.

Balin placed his palm on the stone and closed his eyes, then pushed it open, coughing bit when a cloud of dust rose out of the room. It was, at first, too dim for Fíli too see anything inside — but Dwarf eyes adjust quickly to the dark, and soon he was able to make out many small stone beds lining the walls. Balin's stiffened shoulders drooped in relief.

"I was afraid they hadn't escaped from here."

"Who?" Fíli asked.

Balin stepped deeper inside and reached down to one of the beds, lifting the edge of the finely-stitched mattress. The fabric tore apart in his hand and feathers fell from the hole and floated to the floor. Balin let go of the mattress then turned and sat down on it.

"The children and their mothers." His eyes glistened with moisture in the dim light. "This was a nursery. One of many."

Fíli felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked around. "Why are we here?"

"Are you afraid?"

Fíli straightened his back and started to shake his head, but his resolve failed. "Yes. But not about the battle."

"No. No, I didn't think that was it," Balin said. "We've seen worse. Much worse."

Fíli began wandering around the room. He had fully intended on speaking with Balin—one of the wisest Dwarves he knew—about his worries regarding the kinghood and the Arkenstone, but now that it came down to it, he found himself unable speak.

Balin folded his hands on his lap, seeming to guess what was on Fíli's mind. "The strange thing about madness is that, if you are truly mad, you don't know it. Thorin is doing what he believes is right, but he is, at the same time, being blinded by… something else. What that could be, I can't say. Dragon-fever, perhaps, or something more personal. But his present condition isn't what really concerns you, is it?"

"It does, but…"

"You are wondering if you and Kíli will go down the same path."

Fíli froze in his pacing and looked up at Balin, but said nothing.

"So far, none of your kin have gone that way…" Balin said, then stopped and looked towards the ceiling. "…Before coming to power. But there is no telling if it will happen until it happens."

"What causes it? Why the madness?"

"Nobody knows."

"Could it be the Arkenstone? The closer he gets to it, perhaps…" he let his voice trail off, then sat down on the bed across from Balin and glanced around again. Toys lay here and there on the floor and neatly folded clothing was stacked up on a couple of the beds — if not for the thick layer of dust, the room might have just been abandoned that day. "Did my uncle sleep here as a child?"

"No. A young prince wouldn't. Your father, on the other hand…"

Fíli looked back over at Balin. "This was his nursery?"

"Well, perhaps 'nursery' isn't the right word. It wasn't so much that as a playroom, really. Many mothers would bring their children here, then sit and talk while their children played or rested. My mother and his were no different. We never became close friends in those young days, but as time went by, after our escape from Smaug…"

Fíli had only vague memories of his father, as he had died to the blades of orcs when both he and Kíli were very young, and from that day on Thorin had been the closest they had to a father. He had taught them to fight, showed them how to patch up wounds, instructed them on how to set traps for wild beasts. It had been his voice that had first spoken to them in Khuzdul, his hands that first formed iglishmêk before their curious eyes

Of their father, Fíli and Kíli knew little, except that his portrait hanging on their mother's bedroom wall could have been one of Fíli, himself, so alike did they look.

"You knew him well, then?" Fíli asked

Balin nodded. "Oh, yes. He was brave, loyal… always quick to smile, but fierce in battle. He would never allow a soul to come to harm, if he could help it. Very much like another young Dwarf I know."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Balin smiled softly. "You worry about the blood you have running through your veins… you worry that whatever has taken Thorin will someday take you. But you are not Thorin's son. You are your father's son. You look like him, you speak like him…"

"I'm also my mother's son, and her blood is the same as Thorin's," Fíli said quietly.

"When he was younger, Thorin was… rash and reckless and bold. He never thought before he acted, he just did and said whatever he wanted to, regardless of what anybody else had to say about it. You are not like him, you never have been. I do not believe that when you become king you will…" Balin stopped and listened for a moment, then looked over towards the door. "Come on in, laddie. No use pretending you aren't there."

Fíli stood and looked over as his brother stepped out of the shadows beyond the doorway. "I told you to go with Thorin."

Kíli nodded slowly. "I know you did." He turned to Balin and the two held each other's gaze for a few seconds, then the younger turned his eyes to the floor. "Am I also my father's son?"

"Yes, of course you are," Balin said, standing up. "He was a good Dwarf. Honorable…"

"And, yet, people are always telling me how alike Thorin and I are," Kíli interrupted. "Maybe I have gotten more from that side of the family than from my father. But, then, I guess I won't ever have to really worry about it." He gave Fíli a weak smile. "I'm never going to be king."

"Kíli…" Fíli took a step towards his brother, holding out a hand.

Before he could say any more, however, there was a distant sound of yelling. The three of them turned as one and ran into the passageway outside the room, then stopped and listened as the sound became louder and more voices joined in.

"This way," Balin said, motioning for the others to follow him.

They made their way down the passageway and around several corners until they got to the barricaded gate, where they found the rest of the company, now dressed in old Dwarven armor, looking down at the crowd below.

"What is it?" Balin asked. "What is happening?"

Thorin, who was now in a chain-mail coat, spun around and glared at them. "I told you to ready yourselves for battle," he said, pushing past. "It is on our doorstep. Arm yourselves!"

When he disappeared from their sight, Fíli took Bofur by the arm. "What is going on?"

Bofur shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not really sure, myself."

"Where is Bilbo?" Balin asked, looking around.

Bombur—for whom, it seemed, Bofur had, indeed, managed to find a fitting coat of mail—pointed down past the barricade.

A chill ran up Fíli's spine, for a moment fearing that the Hobbit had fallen, but when he joined the others in peering over the side, he saw Bilbo standing between Bard and the Elvenking. Fíli opened his mouth to again ask what had happened, but Glóin stepped up beside him and placed a hand on his arm.

"Bilbo…" Glóin said, then had to stop and swallow before going on. "He gave the Arkenstone to them. To the Elves and Men."

"The Arkenstone!" Balin said. "He found it, after all!"

"But, why would he give it to them?" Kíli asked.

"What does it matter 'why'?" Dwalin growled. He turned to Balin. "You and the lads best go and get ready."

Balin nodded stiffly and turned back towards the passageway. "Very well. Fíli, Kíli. Come with me. I'll show you to the barracks.

Fíli still had more questions, but he knew it would do no good asking them now, so he began following the older Dwarf, motioning for Kíli to come along, as well. The three got to the barracks in short time and Balin showed them a row of fine armor hanging from the wall. They each picked a set that fit and silently put them on, helping one another to tighten the straps to a snug fit, then Balin led them across the passageway to one of Erebor's armories.

"Pick your weapons, lads," he said, pulling a dusty mace off one of the many racks lining the wall. "They're all in good condition. Fine Dwarven workmanship.

Fíli grabbed two small blades and strapped them to his legs, then spotted a long, two-handed axe and pulled it down. He looked it over — it was still sharp after a century of neglect. It was a good weapon, but Fíli wasn't sure if he would be able bring himself to use it against the Men and Elves waiting outside.

"What do you think?" Kíli asked.

Fíli turned to his brother and wasn't surprised at all when he saw him holding up a sturdy short bow. "Looks good in your hand, but you may want to get yourself a blade, as well."

Kíli reached down and pulled a short sword out of the sheath that hung on his belt. "I already have."

"And arrows?" Balin asked.

Kíli slid the blade back into its scabbard. "I have some in my pack. I brought them from Laketown."

"Oh? A gift from Bard the Bowman?"

"From an Elf," Fíli said.

"From a friend," Kíli added quickly.

Balin raised an eyebrow. "Must have been a close friend, indeed. Elves are not quick to part with such things." He ran his fingers along the haft of a longsword that still hung on the wall. "Your friend was not the young prince, Legolas, I assume."

"Prince?" Fíli asked.

"Aye. Thranduil's son. His name was familiar to me when I heard it spoken by the Elves."

"He was the one that saved us from the orcs in Laketown," Kíli added softly. "Along with Tauriel."

Balin nodded. "Yes, so you said. It was nice to hear that… gives hope that perhaps the friendship between our peoples will be renewed."

"In time, maybe," Fíli said. "But not today. Not if Thorin has any say in the matter."

"Thorin has every say in the matter," a gruff voice came from the door, and they all looked up to find Dwalin standing there with an enormous two-handed mace in his grip. "Come on now. He is waiting for us at the gate," he said, then turned and walked out.

"Tell me, brother," Balin said to Dwalin as he and the younger dwarves caught up to him. "The situation with Bilbo… what happened, exactly?"

Dwalin's hand tightened on his weapon. "He gave the Elves the Arkenstone."

"Yes, we know that much. But why?"

"Who's to say? He did it, and he no longer fights by our side." The corners of Dwalin's eyes wrinkled for a moment, then he tilted his chin up and quickened his pace. "But if it comes down to battle, I expect the halfling's neck to be the first one that Thorin's blade finds."

As they neared the gate, Kíli stopped suddenly and grabbed his brother by the arm, pulling him back. Balin and Dwalin walked on, and from beyond the door they could hear angry words being bandied between Thorin and Bard, who was standing some distance below.

Kíli squeezed his brother's arm tightly, the pressure evident even through Fíli's chain-mail sleeve. "I don't understand," he said in a whisper. "The point of this journey was to recover the Arkenstone… Bilbo came with us all this way, fought by our side. Why would he just… he is our friend, why would he betray us like that?"

Fíli looked towards the door and watched as Thorin walked back and forth along the ledge. He was now wearing gold plate armor adorned with intricate black ravens on the pauldrons, which were just barely visible under a fine fur mantle, and on his head he wore the crown of Thrór. The elder Dwarf was yelling in such a way that Fíli had never heard out of battle, and his hands were shaking and clutching.

"Perhaps he didn't see it as a betrayal," Fíli said softly.

"What, then?"

Fíli stared at Thorin for a long moment, then shook his head. "Go get your arrows. I have a feeling you're going to need them."

Kíli let go of his brother's arm and Fíli listened as he ran back down the passageway behind him. All the while, his eyes remained on his uncle.

The Arkenstone, the whole purpose of the journey, the one thing that Thorin sought above all else… and, yet, Bilbo felt it was better to give Thorin's prize to the Elves than to the Dwarf to whom it rightfully belonged. Why? To force a peaceful resolution? Was it a hostage for negotiations? Or maybe Bilbo had seen something else in the light of the Arkenstone — something that Thorin, himself, had failed to see.

That jewel represented ruling power to the Dwarves, and it was only after it was found, at least according to Balin, that Thrór's mind had begun to sicken. With Thrór's death at Azanulbizar, Thráin had come to succession… and to madness. And now Thorin stood behind a hastily-constructed barricade, crying down to hundreds that he would defend his crumbling kingdom with a force of thirteen.

_Maybe it wasn't a betrayal, but a mercy. Maybe Bilbo was trying to stay the madness. _Fíli thought. _And if that madness comes with the rule of this kingdom… if it isn't in the blood…_

Fíli heard footsteps growing near behind him and turned to see his brother fastening his quiver to his back. "Ready, then?" Fíli asked, composing himself.

"Ready enough," Kíli said, then looked at him curiously. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

Kíli shrugged, then walked out with the others. Fíli took a step forward to join them, reaching up as he did to push aside an errant hair he felt brushing against his skin. His fingers came away wet, and he stared at them for a moment before hastily using the heel of his hand to wipe away the tear he hadn't even realized had fallen

Outside, Thorin had stopped pacing and was now grasping the stone barricade with one hand, while the other hand gripped the hilt of his sheathed sword so tightly that the skin was pulled taught over his knuckles. "I will make no deals with Elves camped at my gate," he bellowed. "Send them away and I may consider your offer."

Fíli stepped to the edge and looked over, and far below he saw that Thranduil was standing next to Bard in dignified silence. Somehow, that only seemed to make Thorin more angry and he again began pacing back and forth behind the barricade, looking off into the distance. Then, suddenly, he stopped with his gaze to the east. He turned back to the company and gave them a crooked smile.

"He's come."

"Who?" Balin asked.

Thorin moved aside so the others could see what he had seen — an army of Dwarves, riding their great rams around the base of the mountain. "Dáin."

"How did he know..?" Dwalin asked.

"I made arrangements with a swift messenger before we left Laketown," Thorin said. "A promise of payment should he get a message to Dáin with all haste."

"And that promise of payment," Balin said, turning his bearded chin up. "Do you intend to honor it?"

"I knew he would come if I called for him," Thorin said, ignoring Balin's question.

"You anticipated the need for an army?" Fíli asked, a rush of heat rising in his chest. "Even before the dragon was dealt with?"

Balin tapped his finger on the stone in front of Thorin. "Dáin said he would not come until you had possession of the Arkenstone."

"Yes, that is what he said," Thorin told him, the corner of his mouth rising slightly.

"You lied to him," Fíli said, his voice growing louder. "You told him you already had it. That's why he came."

Thorin spun around to his nephew. "I did have it," he yelled. "It was as good as in my hands, but for that… thief," he spit out the last word. "That traitor halfling. I should have thrown him to the wargs!"

"He saved your life, Uncle," Kíli said timidly.

Thorin gripped the back of Kíli's neck, digging his fingers into his skin and pulling him close. "To further his own ends," the elder Dwarf said. "He needed to get here, to take what was mine, and he needed me alive to do that. He'd have left me to Azog if he had felt it served his purpose."

Without stoping to think, Fíli dropped his axe and grabbed Thorin by the elbow, then pried his fingers off of Kíli's neck with the other hand. The younger Dwarf fell back onto the stone floor and slid himself away from his uncle, stopping only when his back hit the wall behind him. Thorin turned and pushed Fíli away, then drew his sword and pointed it at him.

"Do not touch me," he warned as his nephew raised his hands in acquiescence.

"Thorin!" Balin yelled. "Think about what you are doing."

"You…" Thorin said, still speaking to Fíli. "You do not yet know the… burden…" his words, as well as his sword-arm began to falter, and he lowered the blade until the tip touched the stone at their feet. "When my time is over, you will be king… and then you will understand."

"Understand what?" Fíli asked. He glanced over at his brother, who had been helped to standing by Bofur and was now rubbing the back of his neck. Fíli bent over and picked up his axe, then turned again to Thorin. "What am I supposed to understand, Uncle?"

Thorin looked from face to face and a terrible awareness suddenly seemed to come into his eyes. He stumbled back and lost the grip on his sword, which clattered noisily to the stones at his feet, then he reached up and placed his shaking hands on either side of his head for a moment before letting them fall to his sides

"After all this time, after all these years, we have reclaimed our home," he said, his voice quavering though he now stood up proudly. "I will not allow it to be taken from us again.

"They are not here for our home, they are here for our help," Balin said, placing a reassuring hand on Thorin's shoulder. "It's not too late to end this. Call down for negotiations. Have words with Bard… he is a good and honorable Man. He will listen."

"And what of the Elves? They are not so good, nor so honorable. Thranduil would have the Arkenstone and every gem in the mountain before he would stand down."

Balin opened his mouth, but before he could speak again there came a great commotion from below and the blowing of many horns

Thorin bent over and picked up his sword, then spun around to the barricade. "Those are Dwarf horns."

"That will be their call to arms," Dwalin said. "Dáin must have already issued his challenge. He will not have taken the news of the Arkenstone's theft lightly."

But as the company looked down, they didn't see the standoff that they had expected. Instead, the three armies—Dwarves, Elves, and Men—were looking off to the western hills, where a dark mass was making its way low across the sky.

"What is that?" Glóin asked, squinting. "A flock of birds?"

Dori shook his head. "No… no, it's a cloud."

"Clouds don't move like that."

"It **is** a cloud," Thorin said. "But not natural."

As they watched, mass spread out across the sky over the hills, then made its way towards the mountain. The company, save for Thorin and Fíli, backed away from the barricade fearfully, watching as a darkness swallowed up Dale, then creeped closer to the gate of Erebor.

"How near will it come?" Ori asked.

All at once, someone below let out a cry, and when Fíli looked towards the darkened hill he could just barely see swift-moving figures. They jerked and jostled against one another, their ranks disorganized, but it was evident enough that there was a great group of small creatures swarming over the rise.

"Goblins!" he yelled to the others, who all came running back to the barricade to look on.

Dwalin looked into the distance. "Those are mountain goblins. Come to revenge the death of their king, no doubt."

"There is something else at work here," Balin said, looking up at the cloud that now spread out infinitely above them. "Goblins travel best under darkened skies, but they don't have the power to conjure such a thing."

"Who, then, is aiding them?" Thorin asked.

Above, the cloud began to churn, then a shrill cry drifted down over the gathered Dwarves. Bifur threw his hands over his ears and looked towards the sky, screaming out a curse in Ancient Khuzdul. A moment later they all heard the rushing of wind, then a swarm of wide-winged, black bats plunged out of the roiling cloud and dove at them.

The Dwarves all ducked and dodged the attacks, then drew their weapons and began fending off the creatures. Bifur cried out again and jumped atop the barricade and took a mighty swing with his boar spear, hitting a large bat purely by chance and sending it, screeching and bloody, to the stone at Dwalin's feet.

The winged beasts then started to gather together, flying in a great circle that soon formed into what looked like a black whirlwind, and moved away from the gate and down towards the amassed armies below. There, they swirled and dashed, first attacking the gathered peoples in an immense cyclone, then spreading out into a low shrieking mass before reforming into a whirlwind and making their way to another group, then another.

Dwalin reached up and pulled Bifur off the barricade, then kicked the dead bat at his feet. "Where did those beasts come from?"

Balin shook his head. "They aren't doing much damage. Not much use for…" his voice trailed off.

"For more than a distraction," Thorin finished for him.

He and the others looked back out into the distance, where they could see that the goblin vanguard had clashed with the Men at the furthest edge of the camp. It seemed that the goblins were already losing, though, as a great number of them had broken off and run to the south.

"I suppose they didn't expect three armies to be waiting for them," Dwalin laughed.

"Let them run away," Glóin said. "The Elves' arrows will find them easily enough."

Thorin leaned further forward. "They're not running away," he said. "They're circling back around."

And so they were, but Fíli could not understand the purpose of their maneuvering, nor the presence of the fairly-ineffectual bats, until he looked back to the north.

"Wargs!" he screamed out to the people far below. Thranduil and Bard both looked up, then back to where he was pointing. "Orcs on wargs!"

"Gundabad orcs!" Dwalin growled. "Hundreds of them!"

Thorin reached out and grabbed Fíli's arm, pulling him back. "Stay down," he warned. "Don't give the Elves a clear shot at you."

"It is not the Elves we need to fear," Fíli said.

"We will be safe here," Thorin told him, his voice weakening. "In our home."

By now, the unnatural darkness had deepened, and though most of the company dared to step forward and look down towards the growing battle, they could see little below them. Still, shock crossed their faces with the steadily-growing noises that rose from below — the screeching of bats, the howling of wargs, the screams of dying men, the clinking of Elven steel on orc armor, the bellowing of Dwarvish battle-cries cut short…

Fíli looked over at Thorin. "Uncle, will we do nothing?"

Thorin remained staunchly silent, and Fíli glanced at Kíli, who was fixing an arrow to his bowstring. The younger Dwarf's jaw was set, but his hand was shaking. Fíli turned again to Thorin and lowered his voice. "You told me that when I became king I would understand the meaning behind your actions. Tell me, what does this mean?" He motioned towards the unseen battle below. "Will we let them all die? Even our own kin?"

"The Dwarves of the Iron Hills are well-armored, prepared for battle," Thorin said softly, then looked at each staring face in turn. "We are only thirteen."

Balin nodded. "Aye. But thirteen of the best."

The snarling of a warg over the edge of the barricade brought Thorin's attention around, but as the beast and its rider dared to leap over the stone, Kíli loosed his prepared Elvish arrow, which slid easily through the warg's head and into the orc's chest. Both fell from the ramparts, and Kíli quickly nocked another arrow.

Thorin smiled at him. "Well done."

Kíli offered a weak smile of his own, but said nothing.

Dwalin leaned over the barricade and glared down. "The fight is coming to us!"

"What shall it be, then?" Balin asked. "One last battle?"

Thorin held up his sword and stared at the blade, then turned to his twelve companions and nodded. "One last time."

The Dwarves, needing no further urging, all clambered up onto the barricade. Thorin, alone, remained standing on the doorstep, and he reached out as Fíli began to climb up, taking him by the arm and pulling him back.

"Listen…" he said, low enough for only his nephew to hear. "If, by chance… if the battle goes ill…" He stopped and swallowed hard. "Recover the Arkenstone and take command."

Fíli felt a visceral shock. "Uncle…"

"It's your right," Thorin said, resting his hand on Fíli's armored chest. "It is in your blood to rule our people."

_What else is in our blood?_, Fíli thought, but the pleading look in his uncle's eyes kept him silent. He nodded stiffly and turned away, but Thorin pulled him back around again.

"Take care of yourself," he said, still in a whisper, then looked up at Kíli. "And your brother. Keep him safe."

"I will."

Thorin looked back at the smashed gate behind him and smiled ruefully. "It was nice," he said. "Being home."

Fíli nodded and the pair climbed up onto the ramparts with the others, where Dwalin and Balin stepped aside to allow Thorin between them.

Fíli sidled up to his brother. "Stay with me."

"I always have," Kíli replied.

Then, a silent nod from Thorin signaled every weapon to be readied, and a moment later he held his own sword above his head. "Du Bekâr!", he cried, then leaped off the stones that had been protecting his people and began the charge down the side of the Mountain.

The rest of the Company followed him close behind, screams of "Baruk Khazâd!" on their lips as they crashed headlong into the fray.


	2. With Shield And Body

**NOTE:** While the majority of this story will warrent a T rating, caution may be used when reading his chapter, in particular, as it contains graphic violence and major character death.

**SPOILERS** for _The Hobbit: Battle Of The Five Armies_

Part Two

**With Shield And Body**

Kíli wasn't supposed to be here.

He was supposed to be somewhere safe, somewhere far from war. He wasn't supposed to be down on one knee, clutching at an injured leg with one hand and wielding an ancient sword in the other.

He needed shelter, rest, time to heal.

Here, before the Gate of Erebor, there was no shelter; and the only rest to be had were the scant few breaths drawn in between attacks. Here, there was no healing... only fresh wounds and old ones being reopened.

_"Stay with Bard's children for a couple days," Fíli said to his brother. He looked around at Laketown's survivors, who were setting up a camp on the shore where they could tend their wounded, then turned back to Kíli and spoke softer. "You can join us when we're sure everything is well at the Mountain."_

_Kíli tilted his chin up defiantly. "Are you afraid I'll slow you down, as well?"_

_"It's just... the boats are gone. We're going to have to take the long way around, and your leg is still healing," Fíli said. "The long march could..."_

_"I'm coming with you," Kíli interrupted. "Even if I have to follow a mile behind."_

_"For once, do as you're told," Fíli said, nearly yelling. He looked at the Men around him, then lowered his voice again. "You've been through enough already."_

_The hurt in his brother's eyes was palpable. "So, the King has spoken, then?"_

_Fíli felt his heart sink in his chest. "Kíli, don't... I'm not..." He let his voice trail off. "Listen. If Thorin and the others..."_

_"If they're dead, then we're going to find out together. But they're __**alive**__... we both know that. They're waiting for us." He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We're going home, Fíli... and we're going together, like you swore we would."_

_"I also swore that I wouldn't let anything happen to you." Fíli looked down at his brother's bandaged leg. "And we don't know what lies between us and the Mountain."_

_"The dragon is dead." Kíli said, smiling wide. "Where's the danger?"_

"Get up!" Fíli reached down and pulled his brother roughly onto his feet. "We're not done yet!"

Kíli squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I'm fine... I was just trying to get a better angle."

His knees buckled slightly, but he managed to keep himself upright, then he turned suddenly and drew his his Dwarvish blade across the face of a lunging goblin. The creature fell to the ground, screaming and scratching at its sliced cheek, and Fíli swung wide with his great-axe, taking its head off with one stroke.

"Keep your eyes open!" Fíli yelled, then added more quietly, "You're going to get yourself killed..."

After their unplanned charge from the Mountain, the Company had come at the enemy as a more-or-less solid wall of armor and blade, but after several minutes of being rushed by wargs and dived at by swirling mobs of bats, their ranks had splintered. By some chance, Fíli and Kíli had managed to stay together and were now fighting the enemy back-to-back, with each scanning the battlefield ahead of them and to their own left sides - and though more than once Kíli had nearly missed an incoming threat, he and Fíli had so far been able to handle whatever attacks had come their way.

Around them, familiar faces darted in and out of sight among the sea of strangers. On one side Fíli would spot Dori swinging wildly with his broadsword, then on the other he would hear Dwalin's mighty battle-cry and turn just in time to see him dispatch yet another invader. The only one he hadn't seen yet was Bilbo, and he hoped that the smallest member of their Company hadn't already fallen victim to the snapping jaws of some vicious warg or been carried off by one of the monstrous bats still circling overhead. The mithril armor Thorin had given him would certainly be some help, but even that would not stop the flight of an orcish arrow aimed at the halfling's head.

"Alright, then?" Fíli called back over his shoulder.

"Perfect!"

"Watch your flank!"

Kíli thrust his sword into a goblin's gut and grunted. "Watch your own!"

Fíli twisted to the side, and for a moment he imagined that he'd caught a glimpse of Gandalf's grey hair above the crowd. The thought passed quickly, though, as they hadn't seen the old wizard since before entering the forest of Mirkwood, and the Dwarf was sure that if he had returned he would have found some way to let himself be known to the Company.

_It's just an old Man of Laketown,_ he thought ruefully. _I wish Gandalf __**was**__ here... this whole business might be over by now._

A movement at the edge of his vision brought his thoughts back to the fight and he turned, digging his axe into another goblin's head. The creature fell to the ground, jerking violently, and Fíli reached down and pulled the spear out of its twitching fingers, then thrust the weapon at a distant warg. He missed it by a hairsbreadth, and at that moment caught sight of another warg's great open maw on his right, where Kíli should have been defending. He turned to face off the incoming attack, but the beast let out a guttural growl and fell dead at his side.

Fíli glanced over, expecting to see that Kíli had dealt the killing blow, but he instead saw the Elvenking standing close by in burnished armor and holding a fine etched sword in his hand. Stunned silent, Fíli gave him a stiff nod of thanks; Thranduil lowered his head slightly in return, though his face remained impassive.

Whether because he felt some kindred with fellow nobility or because he believed that the young princes were incapable of properly defending themselves, Thranduil did not immediately leave their sides - and while the brothers cut roughly into the enemies that came their way, the Elf's more elegant motions sliced through several that were making for their flank. The ranks of enemies immediately around them thinned, and Fíli allowed himself a few moments to watch the tall, fair-haired king.

It was almost jarring how different Elves were from Dwarves in battle - they didn't feint or second-guess their attacks, needed no battle-cries to ready their hearts, and no twist of the hand or shrug of the shoulder was meaningless. Even their weapons were like curved and delicate extensions of their own lithe bodies.

Dwarvish weapons, on the other hand, were sturdy and strong, like their bearers - but they were undeniably tools, wielded in great sweeping motions and landing devastating blows. If a Dwarf missed on the first swing, he would come back at the enemy twice as hard with the second.

But Thranduil never missed. His motions were fluid and deliberate, and while Fíli and Kíli drew back hard and drove their enemies to the ground with pure force, the Elf's blade stabbed and sliced so finely that many goblins didn't even realize they had been hit before falling dead. That level of skill may well have been a boon of Thranduil's birthright, Fíli thought, as a king was supposed to epitomize his people - and the Elves of the Woods, despite all of their claims of being lovers of peace, seemed born to war.

"My lord!" a voice came from off to Fíli's right, and he turned to see a the Elf-maid Tauriel breaking through crowd. She held a long silver knife in one hand and her bow in the other, and as she ran near she spun around and drew the blade across the neck of a diving bat, cleanly severing its head. She then turned back to her king, ignoring the headless beast flapping at her feet. "Your son sent me to find you!"

For a moment the stoicism fell from Thranduil's eyes. "Is he safe?"

"Yes," Tauriel said, giving Kíli a brief glance before returning her attention to the Elvenking. "He is with with the Dwarf Lord, Dain. They are planning a strike against the warg-riding forces on the southern ridge."

"Where are they?"

"The guard-post at Ravenhill." She slid her knife into its sheath. "By your leave, I will remain here."

Thranduil nodded at her, then his eyes locked with Fíli's for a moment before he turned to the south and disappeared into the melee. As Fíli watched him go, an arrow slid through the air just in front of his face and he jumped back, then heard the moaning of a struck orc. He looked over as the creature fell to the ground, then turned to Tauriel, who had nocked and loosed an arrow before the Dwarf had even noticed the approaching enemy.

"Good shot," he said.

"For an Elf," Kíli added.

She turned in a circle, checking for more nearby enemies, then came back around to Fíli's side. "An easy shot for anyone with skill," she said, smiling wryly as she pulled the arrow out of the dead orc and set it again to the string.

"Was that an insult?" Kíli laughed.

Tauriel turned her back to the two brothers, forming a triangle of defense with them, and as she surveyed the battle before her she spoke over her shoulder to Kíli. "What are you doing here? You're not yet fully healed."

"Healed enough, thanks to you."

Tauriel released her arrow and it went through the head of a goblin some distance in front of Kíli. Its raised hand dropped the spear it had been preparing to throw, then it fell to the ground, itself.

"Keep your eyes open!" she scolded.

Fíli smiled crookedly, but didn't look back to see how his brother was taking the reprimand.

"What are **you** doing here?" Kíli asked, returning her question. "I thought you rode off somewhere with... what was his name, again?"

"His name's Legolas," Fíli said. He pulled his axe back, then swung it hard at a goblin's chest, splitting it open. He only realized he had come almost too close to Tauriel's head on his backswing when he saw her stand up from ducking beneath it.

"We saw the battle from a distance," Tauriel answered, seemingly ignoring the near-miss. "We came as soon as we were able."

"That's a good thing," Fíli said. "We can really use the help right now."

"Why? You appear to have everything well in-hand."

The Elf-maid returned the bow to her back and drew out her twin daggers, then sprinted some distance in front of Kíli. Lowering herself to a knee, she looked up, and a moment later, a goblin-ridden warg pushed through the crowd and leaped above her. She ducked down, then thrust upward with one blade, cutting through the beast's belly before rolling aside to keep from being landed on. The goblin fell off its back, screeching, but she silenced it with a slice across the throat before running back to the Dwarves' sides.

"I could have handled it," Kíli said.

"You didn't see it coming," Tauriel told him. "I did."

"That's one reason to keep lanky Elf-folks around," Fíli joked. "They can see above the crowd!"

"I suppose you could have taken him out at the knees," Tauriel returned.

Fíli smiled a bit and shook his head, surprised to find that he truly enjoyed having an Elf fighting by his side, despite their differing styles. There was something, though, in Tauriel's manner that made it seem as if she was not so old, nor so experienced, as the fair-haired Elvish nobles. She was still graceful, still thorough... but rougher, somehow. It wouldn't have surprised Fíli to see her kick a downed enemy, or to use the string of her finely-curved bow to strangle one to death.

But she had yet to do either of those things-or any other such crude maneuvers-and despite her restrained bluntness, she maintained her people's water-like flow in everything she did on the battlefield. The Dwarves, by comparison, were more like boulders tumbling down a mountainside - hard and indiscriminate, crushing any enemies that failed to get out of the way.

All at once, the attacks around them abated as a cluster of ram-riding Iron Hills Dwarves moved en mass in their direction. At their vanguard was a particularly well-kitted-out Dwarf-doubtless one of Dain's lieutenants-sitting atop a giant war-boar and holding aloft a spiked halberd. The group pounded through the enemy ranks, crushing several goblins under their mounts' weight, then stopped and stabbed their lances into the heads of the ones still standing.

With the platoon's presence, the surrounding orcs and wargs attentions were drawn away, allowing the trio of defenders a chance to regroup, and Fíli remained on-guard while Tauriel looked around the body-covered ground and pulled the arrows out of several nearby dead goblins.

Kíli, meanwhile, bent over to pick up his own bow, which he had been using as a makeshift shield until it had been knocked from his grip some time before. He let out a moan as he struggled to stand up straight, then lurched forward, falling onto his hands. Tauriel and Fíli both reached over to help him stand.

He pushed them away. "I'm fine."

Tauriel looked down and her eyes narrowed. "Have you been hit?"

Fíli looked, as well, and first saw a red puddle spreading out on the dirt below them, then followed the trail of blood to where it was seeping past the armor plates protecting Kíli's thigh and knee. He shifted his sight to his brother's face, where pale skin peeked past hair that was curled with dirt and sweat across his forehead.

"Kíli?"

"It's nothing," the younger Dwarf said, gripping both his bow and sword tightly. "I turned wrong and it tore."

"If you don't rest, your leg won't heal," Tauriel scolded again. "You shouldn't even be in battle yet."

Kíli groaned again, this time out of pure frustration. "You sound like my mother..."

"I would take that as a compliment," Tauriel gave him a slight smile.

"You should," Fíli said. "She's pretty amazing."

"Over-protective, as well," Kíli added.

"Perhaps one day I will get to meet her and tell her you said so," Tauriel said, smiling wider now.

Fíli laughed. "I'm sure she'll return to the Mountain once it's redecorated. Don't think she'd care for an Elf coming to dinner, though."

All at once, their throng of allies moved on, and the battle was rejoined when a few pursuing goblins decided that they would rather face off against the three lone defenders than follow after the mounted patrol. That turned out to be the goblins' mistake, as Fíli dug his axe into the neck of the first one that came near, then kicked it away and leaned over, picking up its dropped sword. He thew the weapon towards a larger enemy that was charging in his direction and the blade went through the orc's eye and it fell back, dead.

Just then, past where the creature had been, Fíli saw a riderless warg bent over and snapping. Nori was kneeling before it with his axe in-hand, swinging wildly at the beast, and just behind him lay Ori, bloody and unconscious on the ground. Nori pulled his hand back and took a wide swipe at the warg, but it jumped aside, then snapped at him again, closing its mouth just before it would have sunk its teeth into the Dwarf's head. Its muzzle hit him hard, and as he fell the axe tumbled from his grip - and rather than leaving Ori's side to retrieve the weapon, Nori quickly turned his back to the warg and positioned himself over his brother, lowering his head and sheltering Ori's body with his own.

Fíli cried out and rushed towards them, not waiting to see if his companions were going to join the charge, and as he drew near he reached down and pulled an orcish shield off of one of the dead. He swung it out in front of himself, slamming into the warg, and both of them fell over from the impact. Though dazed, Fíli pulled himself to his knees in front of the other Dwarves, then held his shield and axe above them protectively.

The warg was barely able to regain its footing before Tauriel ran up and sank her dagger deep into its throat. It thrashed around, trying to howl past the blade, but only managed a gurgling splutter before Kíli thrust his own sword through fur and bone into its head. It fell to the ground, twitching, then lay still, and Kíli ripped his sword out of its skull while Tauriel slid her own blade out of its throat with ease.

With the immediate threat gone, Fíli dropped his axe and shield and turned around, then grabbed Nori by the shoulders. He tried to pull him off of Ori, but the older Dwarf held tight.

"Let him go, Nori!" Fíli said. "Let me see him!"

Nori looked up suddenly, and when he realized who was there he released Ori and moved to the side. His shoulder bumped against Tauriel's leg and she reached down, helping him to his feet before resuming her guard.

"Are you hurt?" Kíli asked, holding his own weapon out in front of himself.

Nori didn't answer, but bent down and picked up his fallen axe with an unsteady hand, then drew his now-frayed eyebrows together. A gush of blood flowed from a fresh gash on his forehead, but he seemed not to notice as it coursed down past his eyes, then through his mustache and into his shaking, parted lips.

"Is he alright?" he asked, his voice quavering with a desperation that Fíli had never heard from him before. "Is he alive?"

Fíli placed a hand on his young friend's livid, bloody cheek. "Ori... can you hear me?"

The younger Dwarf blinked and mumbled something, then took a deep breath before again falling silent.

Nori kneeled down again and touched the top of his brother's head. "Ori? Open your eyes now, alright..?" he whispered, and to Fíli's ears it sounded like pleading. Nori shook his head. "We have to get him out of here."

Fíli glanced up towards the Mountain. "The Gate will be the safest place."

Tauriel looked down at the unconscious Dwarf, then sheathed her knives. "I will take him," she said, leaning over and lifting Ori with an ease that Fíli had never expected from one with so slight a frame. "I'll return as soon as I can."

She shifted Ori's head onto her shoulder, then turned and began towards the Mountain; Nori ran on ahead of her, clearing the way with his black-splattered axe. After they had vanished from sight, Fíli grabbed his own axe and shield off the ground and stood, then he and Kíli shared a brief look of concern before the battle closed in around them.

By this time, evening was coming on and the cloud-laden sky had darkened even further, and the goblins, emboldened by the fading light, were now screaming viciously as they threw themselves at the Dwarves. With each swing Fíli's axe grew heavier in his hand, and more and more he found himself needing to use his orc-shield to block incoming blows that, earlier in the day, the goblins would not have been able to get close enough to land.

Over his shoulder, he could see that Kíli was still standing, though his own, lighter weapon was slowing just as Fíli's great-axe was. A few times, the younger Dwarf had leaned back against his brother, then pushed forward again and continued fighting. Fíli didn't need to look to know that his brother was still losing blood from the old wound on his leg and that he would need to get off the battlefield soon; and he decided that when Tauriel returned, they would do just that - even if it meant dragging Kíli, kicking and screaming, to the safety of the Gate.

But minutes went by, then more minutes after, and still Tauriel didn't return. Fíli felt a fleeting moment of worry for her, but that was all he could afford before his thoughts were pulled back to the escalating battle. Each goblin now seemed to be bringing two more after it, and there was nothing but a roiling sea of red-splattered green and grey faces all around them and a hill of black-gushing bodies at their feet.

All at once, Kíli let out a yell, and with the bloodshed now blurring his mind, Fíli could not tell if it was one of alarm or pain. He slammed his shield into the face of a charging orc, knocking it to the ground, then spun around to his brother.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Thorin!"

Fíli looked around for their uncle, but Kíli took off running, and after a few seconds of confusion Fíli started after him. He sliced open the head of a warg that his brother had managed to slide past, then his eyes were drawn to the darkness-dulled golden warmth of his uncle's armor in the distance.

Thorin, just visible past a large boulder on the the battlefield, was standing up against three goblins. They were all coming in at him from the front with their dirty spears, which glided ineffectually off his his already orc-blood-splattered plating, and were leaping back and forth like mice evading a cat. Fíli and his brother knew their uncle's abilities - he wouldn't have any problem with these smaller foes, even though they were in a greater number, yet Kíli still pushed his way through the melee towards him.

"Kíli! Wait!"

It would, in fact, be best for them to fight by Thorin's side, but the speed that Kíli was making for him, even despite his wounded leg, was a dangerous one. In Fíli's racing mind, he imagined his brother running full-force into a goblin's spear, or failing to duck beneath an ally's blade. If Kíli would just stop for a moment, they could fight their way over to their uncle together, in relative safety.

"Wait!" Fíli called out again, but a gap in the crowd ahead gave him a better view, and he felt a jolt in his chest.

Some distance away, tall atop his white warg, Azog was making for the Dwarf-king's back. The giant orc shook with what may have been laughter, then leaned over and said something to his beast. Urged on, the warg sprung forward, and Azog held his great mace out to the side, readying it to strike.

Gathering his strength, Fíli quickened his pace and caught up to his brother, and together they both screamed out to Thorin, who swiftly cut the legs out from under one of the goblins and turned towards his nephews. He began to look back to where they were frantically motioning, but the warning had come too late.

Azog swung his weapon, hitting Thorin dead-center of his back and sending him sprawling to the ground. His sword flew from his grip and the two remaining goblins jumped on top of him and started thrusting their spears into every gap they could find in his armor. With great effort, he rolled onto his back and the goblins tumbled to the side, then they leaped back onto his chest and began stabbing again. He threw his arms up to protect his face, but one of the spears made it past, slicing through the skin on his cheek.

Prompted by Azog, the white warg walked over to Thorin and reared up, sending the goblins skittering away, then the beast came down hard and dug its claws into the space where the Dwarf's chest-piece had been forced aside by the goblins' spears. A burst of blood from Thorin's side coated the warg's paw, then the pale orc bared his teeth in a wide smile as he leaned forward again, encouraging his mount to step down harder.

A moment later, Kíli broke through the mass of combatants and thrust at the warg's neck with his Dwarvish blade. The metal slid through white fur and skin, then deep into the muscle. The animal howled in pain and stumbled to the side, yanking the weapon out of Kíli's hand, then threw its head forward and hit his armored chest, knocking him to the ground beside Thorin. The warg's throes caught Azog off guard and he dropped his mace so he could grip its neck to keep himself from falling as it stumbled, howling and gnashing, away from the Dwarves.

Their enemy thus distracted, Fíli struck next. He ran forward with all the speed he could muster and slammed his shield against the warg's side, as he had done with the one that had been attacking Nori - but this time it felt like he had run full-force into a stone wall. The collision jarred him, knocking the breath from his lungs, and he felt a sudden burning in his left elbow where it had struck against the metal.

Shaking off the shock of impact, he dropped the shield and took up his great-axe in both hands, wincing at the new pain in his arm. He swung down hard, and though he was now aiming at Azog, the warg's jerky movements instead sent the edge of the blade deep into its own flank. Fíli twisted the axe out of the animal's flesh, then again raised it to strike the rider, but before he could carry through, Azog reached down with his freed hand and grabbed Fíli by his throat, lifting him off his feet.

The axe fell from Fíli's grasp and he began clawing uselessly at the orc's iron grip; then, somewhere past the new ringing in his ears, he heard his own name being screamed out. Just barely on the edge of his darkening vision, Fíli saw his brother crouching over Thorin with his short bow held out in front of him, nocking one of his last Elvish arrows.

Azog saw this, as well, and swung the captive Dwarf out to protect himself from the oncoming attack, and Fíli closed his eyes, hoping the orc's foul tactic wouldn't stop Kíli from taking the shot. If this was the only chance he had to put an arrow in the giant orc, he would need to take it.

And so, Kíli did.

The warg snarled and howled, then jerked suddenly and was silenced. At the same moment, a searing pain passed just above Fíli's already injured elbow; then the pale orc roared and they both fell to the side, hitting the ground hard. Azog's grip loosened and Fíli rolled away, coughing and fighting for breath, then he climbed weakly to his knees and pressed a hand to the fresh wound on his arm.

As the edges of his vision lightened, he looked up, expecting to see Azog coming at him again - but the orc was instead kneeling by his now-dead warg, running his hand along its neck almost gently. The beast had a trickling hole in the top of its head, and Fíli guessed that his brother must have shot through its open maw-as he had done with the warg at the Gate-then through Fíli's arm and into Azog's chest. The Elvish arrow still remained lodged between the ribs on the giant orc's right side, and after a moment of what seemed like mourning over his fallen mount, he stood up and pulled at the shaft, tearing the arrow out of his flesh and throwing it to the ground.

Azog bent down and picked up his mace, then turned to Kíli, who was setting another arrow to his bowstring. Beside the young Dwarf, Thorin lifted his head weakly then lowered it again to the ground, compelling Kíli to look over at him for a moment - and Azog bounded forward.

"No..." Fíli said, barely whispering, then he found his voice and called out louder, "Kíli!"

Azog lifted his mace into the air, and Kíli spun back around to him and released - and the arrow struck the orc in the thigh, stopping him in mid-stride. Fíli took this chance to reach down and pull out the parrying dagger he had strapped to his leg and lunged ahead, digging the blade into Azog's belly and twisting hard.

The orc let out a howl of pain and anger, but the mace still remained tight in his grip, and he took another giant step towards Kíli and kicked him hard in the center of his chest, sending him onto the ground some distance behind Thorin. He then turned again towards Fíli and lifted his weapon high above his head.

The Dwarf dropped to a knee and shifted half-away, preparing to dodge the incoming strike - but it wasn't the blow of a heavy mace that hit him.

He felt sudden pressure on the right side of the nape of his neck and saw a flash of light, and all at once his head began to burn. His knees left the ground and his feet followed, then flames seemed to burst from the back of his head and travel down his spine - and somehow, past the pain and shock, Fíli realized that one of the spikes on Azog's clawed limb had pierced his scalp and skull, and he was now being hoisted off the ground like a deer on a skinning-hook.

Fíli reached up with trembling blood-slicked hands and tried to get a hold on Azog's metal arm, but the orc shook him hard and Fíli's back arched involuntarily. He tasted salt and iron flowing over his tongue, then Azog shook him again and his arms went suddenly numb and fell to his sides. The pain moved deeper and both his spine and lungs began to burn, and he found that he didn't have the breath to cry out against it.

Cracked glass closed in on the edges of his vision and he tried to force himself to breathe, but his own weight was pulling him down harder now and the extension of his neck stopped the breath at the top of his throat. His body started to jerk as it begged for air, then Azog shifted his arm and Fíli felt the tip of the curved claw scraping against the inside of his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and suffocation, then waited for the spike to tear completely through and send him crashing to the ground.

But it didn't tear through, and from somewhere far away in the darkness, he heard Kíli again call out his name.

_...Kíli... run..._ Fíli thought, and the word echoed over and over again in his slowing mind. _...run... run..._

Suddenly, Fíli was wrenched to the side. He heard a sickening crunch and felt the metal slide out of his head, and for a moment the world vanished around him. Then it rushed back in with a painful jolt as his back hit something hard; he fell again and dirt flew up into his mouth and eyes as the shock of impact on his chest forced them open.

For a few seconds he lay with his face on the ground, breathing in air that now felt as thick as water to his thirsty lungs, then he watched the darkness slowly fade from his vision. At last, he felt some small bit of strength return and lifted his head, but as he did, he heard himself scream. It was only after the sound had faded that he felt the pain again seize the deep and vicious wound at the back of his skull, and he shut his eyes once more.

Thick, gritty blood flowed past his parted lips, but couldn't spit it away. It coursed down his throat and he choked, then he bit back another scream and forced himself to look up again. Through dust-filled, watering eyes, he could see that Azog was stalking towards where Thorin now kneeled with his head lowered, then the Dwarf-king leaned forward and pounded the ground with his fist - and Fíli could see that his uncle was bent over Kíli, who was lying still as a stone on the ground.

A desperate fear hit Fíli and he tried to call out, to warn his uncle about Azog's approach, but his voice was stuck with the blood in his throat. He climbed painfully to his knees, then willed himself to stand, but managed only one step before his legs gave out beneath him. He landed hard on all fours, and his left arm folded under him as pain traveled from his twisted elbow to his shoulder, but he pressed the weakened arm to his chest and began to crawl towards his uncle and brother, heedless of the dead all around him and the fighting still at-hand.

Suddenly, Thorin's voice let loose with a great scream of anger, and Fíli watched as his uncle grabbed a fallen spear off the ground then stood and glared at his enemy. The orc stopped a few feet from him and smiled.

"Azog!" Thorin cried, spitting the orc's name out like a curse, then lunged forward, thrusting the spear at his adversary's face.

Azog lifted his mace, blocking the blow with ease, and swung out at Thorin with his claw. The Dwarf lurched forward and the sharpened metal missed his flesh, though the limb itself struck his head and he fell to his knees, then toppled over onto his back and didn't move.

Fíli stared at him for a few breaths, then continued to crawl towards his brother, and somehow, even with so many others still fighting near them, the movement brought Azog's attention back around. He started again towards Fíli, but as he stepped past Thorin, the Dwarf-king sprung to his feet. He drew back the weapon that he still had in-hand and thrust upward with all the force he could manage, and the spear-head cut through Azog's back, then burst out of his chest with a sickening spray of flesh and orcish blood. Thorin twisted the spear and pulled it back out, doing more damage to the pale orc's already-torn body with the barbs on withdrawal.

Azog cried out viciously and swung around with his mace, striking Thorin on the side of his head and sending him spinning again to the battlefield, then dropped his weapon and clutched at the hole in his chest. Black blood seeped out through his white fingers and an expression of shock and fury slashed across his scarred face.

The blow would be a killing one, but when Azog looked suddenly back over at Fíli, the young Dwarf knew that the orc's death would not come soon enough. Azog took several great steps forward, reaching him in seconds - but still Fíli's fingers grasped at the dirt as he continued crawling towards where Kíli lay.

Azog raised his claw; Fíli lowered his head.

But the strike never came.

Instead, there was a mighty growling and the stomping of heavy feet nearby. Fíli forced himself to glance up to his right, and there saw Azog locked in battle with a giant black bear.

_...Beorn..._

What the skin-changer was doing in the middle of this war, Fíli couldn't tell; but whether he was taking sides or was there to kill one and all didn't matter - he had drawn Azog's attention, and in doing so had given Fíli the chance to crawl the last few painful yards to his brother's side.

Once there, Fíli lifted himself up onto his knees, but as he did a sick sensation rose up in his stomach and he bent over against it. With the motion came another wave of burning from his neck to the base of his spine, and all at once his hands clenched, then fell open feebly. A few raspy breaths later, the pain eased a bit and the movement returned to his fingers, and he reached up with his uninjured arm to take hold of the edge of Kíli's armor.

_...Come on..._ he thought, unable to speak past his swiftly-swelling throat. He shook his brother gently. _...Get up..._

Fíli pulled himself closer and looked into his brother's ashen face. A trickle of thick blood had begun to fall from the corner of Kíli's pale and parted lips, but no longer flowed from whatever wound had borne it - and though the searing in his spine began to grow again and his heart trembled within his chest, Fíli could not turn away as Kíli's soft brown, half-open eyes stared blankly into the leaden sky.

_...No... please... _

He released his grip on the armor, then carefully slid his shaking hand beneath Kíli's head, but as he shifted his brother's face towards himself he felt the bones in his neck scrape and grind together under his touch.

_...No... no, please... Kíli, please... _He drew his hand out and placed it on Kíli's cooling cheek. _...Don't do this... Wake up..._

A sudden spasm hit Fíli's back and he arched it involuntarily, then he felt a twisting in his gut. He stiffened, and seconds later his muscles loosened and he fell across Kíli's chest. There, his body went limp, and he found that he couldn't move, even to close his eyes as they stared out towards where his uncle lay on the battlefield.

But he could still feel everything-from his twisted elbow to his pierced skull-and his slack body pulled down on his already-burning spine, extending it to the point where it felt as if he would tear in two. Blood trickled down his swollen throat and he could not cough it away, while more flowed from his mouth and pooled around his cheek where it lay atop his brother's cold, dented armor.

Nearby, the battle still raged, but closer than the sound of steel-on-steel were the growls of the two giants in combat. Just out of sight, Azog screamed something that Fíli could not understand, then there came a sound like the snapping of a large tree branch. Just from the corner of his eye, though his bloody hair now lay in his path of vision, Fíli saw the bear stalk into view with the orc's limp body clutched between his teeth.

Beorn dropped his kill to the ground, then let out a ferocious roar before moving to Thorin's side. He stopped next to him and bent over, sniffing, and the Dwarf-king lifted his hand and tried weakly to grasp at the bear's fur, but his strength failed him and his arm fell back to his side.

_...He's alive... _Fíli thought, finding some small comfort in his uncle's survival, despite all else.

Thorin's lips moved and Beorn brought his face closer to him, and whatever he had said, the bear understood. He rose up onto his hind-legs and looked across the battlefield, then dropped back down to all fours and made his way to where the younger Dwarves lay.

Beorn sniffed at Kíli, then lowered his head and wrapped his teeth gently around his plated arm and shook. He let go and sniffed at him again, then let out a low growl before walking around behind Fíli. A moment later something slid between the brothers, and Fíli's mind told him to cling to Kíli, but he could not move to keep what he now realized was Beorn's paw from separating them.

Fíli's body ached and burned as the bear flipped him onto his back, but still his limbs were loose, his eyes fixed open. Beorn batted at him with his paw and scratched his claws across the armor that covered his chest, then nudged Fíli's cheek with his muzzle. The Dwarf's head lolled to the side, towards Kíli, then hot breath hit the back of his neck as Beorn sniffed at his wound. He felt the great paw batting at his pained left elbow, then Beorn lowered his face and looked into Fíli's eyes.

But whatever small signs of life remained in him, Beorn didn't see.

The skin-changer growled almost mournfully, then stepped over the young pair and walked back towards where Thorin lay. Fíli could no longer see his uncle on the ground past his brother's face, but Beorn was large and remained in view, and Fíli watched as the skin-changer stood up on his hind-feet and looked towards the Mountain. He lowered himself back down, but the next moment he rose again, and Fíli saw that he now held Thorin in his giant arm and was pressing him protectively to his chest. The bear then turned towards the Gate and bounded out of sight, leaving the brothers-dead and dying-behind on the battlefield.

Fíli's heart beat slow and weak inside his chest, and as he looked at Kíli's face, he wondered how long it had taken for his brother's own heart to stop beating. Had it been as sudden as the swing of Azog's mace? Had he lasted for those few minutes before Fíli could get to his side? Was Fíli feeling now what Kíli had felt in his last moment - frozen, but in pain? Had he felt the same fear?

Fíli wanted to reach out to him, to hold him close as he did when they were children - the elder brother protecting the younger from the nightmares that had woken him; telling him that the evil things he saw in his dreams weren't real, that the sun would soon rise and chase away whatever monsters still lingered.

_...You shouldn't be here... why did you come..._

Air still flowed soft and slow past Fíli's lips, though he couldn't feel it filling his lungs. Any moment now, he told himself, those fragile breaths would fail, then his heart and mind would slow. Then the pain would melt away, and the last thing he would see before the world went dark would be Kíli's face.

_...Why did you follow me..._

Fíli stared into his brother's empty eyes and tried not to breathe.


	3. The Remains

Fíli didn't want to die. Not now, not like this.

Though he hadn't been able to see it, he knew that Kíli had sacrificed himself trying to save him from Azog. The younger Dwarf's arrows had all been spent, so he couldn't have struck out from a distance - - he must have rushed at the giant orc with his sword drawn. But Azog's reach was greater than Kíli's, and his mace had stuck him, shattering his neck, before he could even get close.

Fíli didn't want that last act to be in vain. He wanted to pull himself back to his feet, to take up arms, to protect those of his allies and kin that still stood. But he couldn't move, and so he couldn't fight; and all around him, Dwarves and Elves and Men fell. And still he looked on at Kíli in forced silence, allowing himself a little comfort in the thought that if he did have to die, it was at least going to be by his brother's side.

Time trickled past, and from the corner of his fixed-open eyes Fíli watched enemies and allies alike scrambling around in a mad rush. He heard the clash of steel on shield somewhere nearby, then felt a jolt of fire in his neck and spine as someone tripped over his shoulder. The Man fell to the ground before crawling off, and slowly the stinging in Fíli's back eased, though the wound on the back of his head still burned and his elbow felt like someone were twisting it out of joint.

_...It won't last long, the pain..._ he thought, then turned his mind back to Kíli. _...Will it?..._

The sky behind the pervasive cloud had by now darkened, and with evening the goblins' savage screams had redoubled. Close at hand, one such scream was cut short, then the creature fell, gurgling and lurching, over the Dwarves' legs. It jerked for a few moments before becoming suddenly still, and Fíli felt warmth spreading on his shin where the goblin's blood was seeping past the joins of his leg plating.

Fíli's own blood had stopped dripping down his still-swollen throat some time ago, though he wasn't sure if that meant the wound had closed, or if his heart had slowed to the point where it could no longer push the blood from his body. Once in a while his throat would feel like it was closing and the stickiness would stop his breaths for a few moments, but then it would slowly open and allow air in once more.

This had happened over and over, lasting from a few seconds to nearly a minute each time, and as the goblin stopped moving atop Fíli's legs, it began again. This time, his breathing stopped suddenly, and he counted off the seconds to a minute, then beyond. His eyes darkened at the corners and spots danced in his vision, then his slow breaths returned and his eyes lightened, though he could still see black shapes moving against the far grey sky.

_...More bats..._ he told himself.

As the shapes became clearer, however, he realized that they were not moving like any bats he had ever seen. The ones that had attacked the defenders earlier that day had gathered together in tight, reeling spirals, flapping and screeching all the while; these were gliding, traveling in great circles on high. Gradually, the flyers moved back up into the clouds, then moments after the last vanished from sight they dove back out. Only now there was a great many more of them, and as they plunged towards the earth they unfurled their vast wings and spread away from each other over the battlefield.

Somewhere past the noise of combat, a small voice called out, then others joined in, until at last hundreds of defenders were crying that the eagles had come. Fíli would have smiled then, remembering what easy work the great birds had made of the orcs and wargs at their last encounter, and he wondered what had brought them around this time. Had they been following the goblins all the way from the Misty Mountains? Did the Elves have secret ways with them? Could they smell the blood, even from so great a distance?

Whatever it had been, like Beorn's appearance, their presence was a gift. Morale was bolstered and battle-cries rose up from the lips of nearby Dwarves and Men as the eagles swooped down over the valley, grabbing goblins in their sickled talons and dashing them back to the ground. A snarling warg came near to the brothers, but its face was turned towards the sky. It leaped up, presumably to attack one of the birds, but Fíli felt a rush of wind from an approaching eagle's wings, then a giant open beak came into view and the warg disappeared from his sight.

And so it continued for many long minutes as the tide of battle turned. How many orcs, goblins, and wargs the eagles gutted and how many were just dropped to their deaths, there was no way to tell, but steadily the sounds of fighting lessened even as the smell of blood increased. Not so far away, Dwarven voices began laughing heartily as Men cheered and Elves proclaimed victory.

_...Looks like we won, Kíli... A little late, but still..._

"Those are Thorin's kin," a voice suddenly spoke up behind Fíli, and in his shock, it took him a moment to recognize it as belonging to Thranduil's son. "Check them."

The goblin was lifted off Fíli's legs and he heard its body hit the ground; a moment later a slim hand slid into view and fingers were pressed Kíli's throat. "This one is dead," a soft, though rough, female voice replied. "Hours ago, I'd say."

Fíli felt a jolt in his chest.

"And the other?" Legolas asked.

The woman's hand moved to Fíli's face and turned it towards the sky, then the silver-haired stranger looked deep into his eyes as she placed a pair of shaking fingers to his neck. She felt around for a few moments, then drew her eyebrows together, deepening the wrinkles on her forehead.

"Does he live?" Legolas pressed.

The old Woman shook her head slowly. "No."

_...Look closer..._ Fíli thought, hoping still that his brother's death hadn't been for nothing. _...I'm breathing..._

Legolas stepped into view and Fíli could see that his fair hair was tousled and his face was streaked with black blood. There was a deep worry in his blue eyes, and though Fíli was sure it wasn't for him and his brother, he hoped that it was neither Tauriel's nor Thranduil's conditions that had brought it.

"Then we must leave them," the Elf said softly, looking into the distance. "Now come... a group of orcs have turned to the west. We must catch them before they get too far."

With that, he glanced back down at the Dwarves for a moment before turning away and moving out of Fíli's sight. The Woman watched him go, then looked again into Fíli's eyes, but said nothing.

_...I'm still here ... Can't you see?..._

She remained kneeling for a few more seconds before standing with a grunt, and only then did Fíli see the hilt of a sword peeking over her shoulder and a frightful gash across the front of her leather cuirass. She bowed her head as she backed away, then Fíli and his brother were left alone once again. But Fíli's thoughts lingered on her ragged face and he wondered if she had marched in with the Men. Or, perhaps she and other Women had seen the battle from afar and had made the swift journey from the Lake to defend their sons and fathers and brothers - - and the thought hit him that many of the Men he saw fighting that day may well have been daughters and mothers and sisters.

After some time, the nearby screeching of the eagles began to drift away, though wargs still howled and orcs still roared in anger from some farther place. Running feet made their way past as Elves, Men, and Dwarves chased down their last remaining enemies; then the silence on the battlefield grew until at last there were no more voices, eagle-cries, or dying gasps to be heard close at hand.

With the battle's end, the pervasive black cloud drifted off, released from whatever spell that had been holding it there. Lighter, swift-moving clouds appeared much higher in the sky, blocking out patches of starlight and once in a while sliding in front of the moon and dipping the area into a deeper darkness. Soon, a frigid breeze began to blow in from the north, and though it froze him, Fíli could not shiver off the cold that now travelled up his body. The chill and exhaustion soon took full hold and blackness pushed in at the edges of his vision as his thoughts began to fade into a haze - - and he couldn't tell if it was death or sleep taking him until he fell suddenly into a dream.

There, he found himself back in Thror's treasure room, standing by as Thorin still dug. Unsure why, Fíli fell to his own knees beside him and began to rake his fingers through the piles of gold. Pushing aside what he now felt were useless baubles, he uncovered the chest-piece of a gleaming set of armor, then the gold and gems all around began to fall away as up from underneath rose first his brother's gilded body, then more and more dead. His dream-self stood back up and watched as Dwarves, Elves, and Men appeared at his feet... all lifeless, all shining as if they were coated with molten gold. Then Fíli looked up to his uncle and saw him kneeling atop this newfound treasure, staring at his nephew's hands and smiling softly. Fíli turned his eyes to his own cupped palms and found that he could not draw his gaze away from the bright, pulsating stone he now held - - a stone that looked as if it had been born of the stars, themselves.

_"...Is anybody out there..?"_

The voice had come from somewhere in the waking world and Fíli felt himself inhale deeply. A jolt in his chest brought him back around, and as his vision returned he could see that the sky above was overcast again, though this cloud was whiter and seemed altogether more wholesome than the one that had descended on the Mountain hours before. The growing numbness in Fíli's fingertips and face did nothing to help ease the burning in his head and spine, and despite his gasp, the only movement he could now feel was the air that slowly passed his lips - - and even that he wasn't sure was his own breath or the winter breeze on his face.

"Anybody? Can anybody hear me?" The voice cried again.

It was a quavering, heartsick, familiar voice; and the sound of it made Fíli's heart beat harder for a moment before it settled back to near-stillness.

_...Bofur... _

"If you can't speak... if you can hear us at all, try to move," Balin's voice called out after him, and Fíli felt a brief rush of joy that at least two of the Company still lived. "Just try to let us know you're out there! We will get you to safety..."

"We'll see you..." Bofur went on. "...Anybody?"

His voice was cracking, and Fíli knew that they had not found so many survivors as they had hoped. He wanted to speak up, to raise his arm - - but his voice still wouldn't come, and his hand remained stock-still at his side.

Even so, Bofur called out in alarm.

"No!" His footsteps ran near, then a moment later he fell to his knees beside the brothers and leaned over them. His face was bloody, though white streaks cut through the red, marking the path of many tears that had fallen since the battle's end. "No... no! No, please... come on, boys... don't do this..."

He ran his fingers frantically over Fíli's cheek and down to his neck, feeling for a pulse, then he turned towards Kíli and, Fíli assumed, did the same to him. Fresh tears fell from Bofur's eyes and he squeezed them shut, then wrapped his hands around the back of his own head and lowered his face.

_...It's alright..._ Fíli thought, feeling the need to ease his friend's mind. _...It's alright..._

Soon, Balin limped up behind Bofur and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I... I had hoped that..." the older Dwarf said haltingly, then closed his eyes for a few seconds before going on. "I had hoped that he had been wrong..."

_...He?..._ Fíli thought, wondering who Balin had been speaking of. Legolas, perhaps? Beorn, back in Man form? Had Thorin lived long enough to say that he had seen his nephews fall?

"We have to go..." Balin continued. "There are still survivors to be found. There must be."

"We can't just leave the lads..." Bofur said, placing his palm on Fíli's forehead. "We should bring them to the Gate."

"And we will, but it would be no respect to them if we let others die in the meantime. Gloin and Bifur... and Bilbo... they may still live. We should try to find them if we can."

_...Find them..._ Fíli thought towards the other Dwarves. _...Please... just find them..._

Balin began again. "We'll return for the..." the words died on his lips, but he swallowed hard and went on. "We'll return for the lads soon."

Bofur nodded and struggled to his feet, then hung his head for another moment before turning and stepping out of view. A few seconds later, Fíli heard his voice again calling out for the still-living, though this time it somehow seemed thinner, weaker. Balin remained standing over the brothers and watched him go, then fell to his knees and pressed his hands to his own eyes. Fíli then realized that his old friend had been trying to keep his composure for Bofur's sake, trying to give him strength when Balin had, in fact, lost his own.

The older Dwarf lowered his hands and leaned over, and Fíli felt warm tears fall on his cheek as their foreheads touched. Balin then turned to Kíli and did the same to him before sitting back, then he reached out and moved the hair off of Fíli's bloody cheek.

"You... you are your father's son. He looked just the same when..." He stopped and took a deep breath. A moment later, he lifted his hand away and Fíli's eyes were eased shut by the older's Dwarf's rough fingers. "It is a blessing, I suppose, that you left this world as yourself, where so many of your kin have not. I just... I wish..." his broken voice trailed off. "You would have been a fine king."

_...A fine king..._ Fíli's own thoughts echoed, and he realized with a sinking ache in his chest that he was thinking those words bitterly. _...Like my uncle... like my grandfather..._

Fíli's left arm was shifted and shock of pain moved up from his elbow to his shoulder, but it eased when he felt his palm being placed against his brother's own.

"Together to the last," Balin said. "I will return to Ered Luin and tell your mother, myself..." He drew in another ragged breath. "She wanted you to stay behind, you know. She wanted you to be safe. She said you were too... you were just too young to be here. She was right."

As Balin spoke, Fíli felt a cloth being draped over his face, then Bofur's anxious voice drifted in from far away.

"Balin! Come quick!"

There was a shuffling sound as Balin stood. "What is it?" he called out, clearing away the sadness from his own voice.

"Bifur! I've found him! Come help me, quick!"

Balin's limping steps ran off in the direction of Bofur's voice. "Is he alive?" he yelled, but whatever answer the other Dwarf had to give was too low to hear.

_...She wanted you to stay behind... she wanted you to be safe..._ Balin repeated in Fíli's mind after his footsteps faded. _...Just too young to be here..._

Those words were meant for Kíli. He was the one that their mother worried about, he was the one that she had always said was too young - too young to drink, too young to smoke, too young to go hunting. She had always made him promise to be careful when her sons went anywhere without her, and she had always made Fíli promise to bring his brother home safely. This most recent adventure had been no different, though her warnings had been more dire, and her reluctance to allow Kíli to go had been far greater.

_"It is their right to help reclaim Erebor,"_ Thorin had said to her one night when they thought the younger Dwarves could not hear them. _"And their responsibility. As my heir, Fíli..."_

_"Fíli is ready, Kíli is not,"_ she had broken in.

_"You cannot keep him here forever. You need to let him go some time."_

_"He's too young, Thorin. He doesn't understand..."_

_"And he will never understand until he makes his way out into the world."_

_"He needs more time."_

_"He has become a fine archer, Dís. We could use that skill on the road."_

_"It isn't the road that I'm worried about, it's what is waiting at the end."_

Of course, they had expected a dragon at the end of the road, not a war.

Not death.

A cold breeze moved across Fíli's fingers, drawing him again from a sleep that he hadn't realized he had fallen into, and with it came a rush of pain traveling up his left arm. When the wave passed he realized that he was now loosely gripping Kíli's hand. A moment later-almost against his own will-his fingers tightened again and the pain shot down from his elbow into his wrist. The shock from it made his shoulder jerk, then his head began to swim and his thoughts went black.

When he came back to himself he felt the fabric above his face billowing in the frigid air. A stiff gust blew up, taking the cloth away as suddenly as if someone had yanked on it, and his eyelids fluttered.

_...Am I not dying?..._ he thought, then opened his eyes halfway - as far as he could yet manage. His chest jolted and he inhaled again, then he watched as his breath turned to fog in the air above him. _...This shouldn't be happening..._

Fíli's dry tongue slid out past his parted lips, and at once he realized he was parched with thirst. He tried to swallow, but his throat was still swollen and blood-sticky, so he instead eased his mouth shut and began to draw in chest-deep breaths through his nose. The sudden expansion of his lungs pressed hard against his back and he stiffened with the burst of flame that followed, then he forced his breathing shallower. There he lay for quite a while, staring up at the clouds, daring not to move for fear of bringing back the paralysis that now seemed to be trying to release him.

After a time, an icy-cold rain began dripping on Fíli's face and into his eyes. He blinked it away, then allowed his mouth to open again, letting the water onto his thirsty tongue and washing what was left of the blood down his throat. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady, slow ticking of raindrops on his and Kíli's armor, and at last dared to try gripping his brother's hand again. Fíli's fingers were stiff and stung when he moved them, but he did not stop until they were entwined with Kíli's own, then he turned his head painfully towards his brother and reopened his eyes.

_...I don't think I can go with you just yet..._ he thought, though in the back of his mind he considered that maybe this was just a temporary thing; a last gasp before drowning. _...Just don't get too far ahead..._

But as his breaths deepened further and his lungs burned less and less, he knew that-whether it would be for hours, days, or years-he was going to go on living. He wanted to speak, to tell Kíli that he was sorry that they would no longer be together, but his voice couldn't make its way past his inflamed throat.

Instead, another sound rose nearby - - a deep, guttural noise that Fíli first mistook for the moans of someone dying. He realized his mistake with a sudden jolt of fear as the snarling muzzle of a young warg came into view just past Kíli's face. Fíli squeezed his brother's hand tighter and shut his eyes, willing away what he hoped was a dream, but when he looked again, the beast was still there, and its maw now hung open as its tongue lapped at the bloody water pooled on Kíli's dented armor.

Whether the warg had been left for dead on the battlefield or had been hiding amongst the rocks at the base of the Mountain, it had likely waited for the living to wander off so it could make an easy meal of those that hadn't survived the battle. Fíli breathed heavier and stared hard at it, trying to warn it off with his eyes, but it seemed not to notice him and started to sniff at Kíli's cheek.

All at once, Fíli felt his right hand began to shake and he stretched out his arm weakly, then forced what strength he could into his leg. He managed to bend his knee until his cold fingertips brushed against the hilt of the parrying dagger he had strapped to his calf; then he stopped suddenly, shocked still by the pain in the back of his neck as he tried to crane his shoulders to get a grip on the weapon. But the warg began to growl again, and Fíli gritted his teeth as he forced himself to take hold of the hilt, then he pulled the dagger out and screamed in his own mind as he swung his arm up and dug the blade into the warg's eye.

It howled and leaped back, pawing at its face as it tried to dislodge the weapon, and Fíli looked to the ground beside him and grabbed hold of an orcish backsword he saw lying there. He forced himself to sit up and drew the blade across the warg's throat; black blood gushed onto Kíli's face as the animal lurched to the side, then it stumbled off onto the battlefield and stopped some distance away, where it collapsed onto the ground and lay still.

Fíli dropped the sword to the mud and lowered his head onto his brother's chest-plate, closing his eyes. His mind began to lighten and his body to ache again as the burst of strength ebbed, and he lay quietly across Kíli's chest for many long minutes, just letting himself breathe. After a while, the cold rain began to ease, slowing to an occasional drip before finally stopping completely, and only then did Fíli raise his head. Stiffly, he again pulled himself up to sitting and lifted his hand to Kíli's cheek, wiping at the thick black blood that the rain had not washed away.

_...You slept through all that..._ he thought, smiling softly. He rested his palm on the side of his brother's head and painfully leaned forward, placing his brow against Kíli's own. _...Wait here for me..._

Fíli slid his fingertips from Kíli's cold temple to his jawline before drawing his hand away and bringing himself up onto his knees. A sick feeling rose into his stomach and it took him many long breaths before he could go any further. At long last he managed to get onto his feet, but when he thrust his arms out to give himself balance his left elbow popped and he instinctively pulled it back against his body. He staggered to the side as he nearly lost his footing, but managed to stay upright despite the unsteadiness and pain.

Looking towards the Gate he could now see the light from campfires and torches at the base of the Mountain, and in their illumination he could just make out many people milling around the outlines of tents. Barely able to lift his feet, Fíli began shuffling in their direction, keeping his eyes down so as not to trip over any of the weapons or bodies littering the muddy ground; but not too many steps ahead, he stopped.

There, at his feet, lay the remains of Azog the Defiler. The giant orc's rigid face was twisted into an expression of rage, his pale eyes were open wide, his leg snapped and bent up under his scarred body. The fear that he had once instilled was gone from Fíli's mind, and all that the Dwarf now felt towards him was disgust and a lingering hate - and a perverse satisfaction rose into his chest as he continued to look over the shattered body, until he saw that the end of the orc's metal arm was pulled nearly out of the stump of his elbow.

Fíli's own hand began to shake again as his thoughts drifted to the moment, not so many hours before, that his skull had been pierced by one of those spikes. He again felt the sensation of his feet being lifted off the ground, the pain when the orc shook him, the desperation when he heard his brother call his name for the last time. Fíli slid his touch around to the back of his head and his fingertips brushed against the hole there, stinging it, then he pulled his hand back into view, expecting to see it covered with blood. There was only a slight reddening on his fingertips, though, and he lowered his hand and glared at the creature at his feet.

_...Was this all of this... was this just to kill off the line of Durin?..._ he thought, then tightened his jaw and kicked at the orc's metal limb, tearing it completely out of Azog's dead flesh. _...You failed..._

He straightened his back, though it hurt to do so, then stepped around his fallen enemy and continued on towards the Mountain. Along the way, he passed by the stiff and twisted remains of orcs, goblins, wargs, and bats - - but there were as many allies dead as there were enemies. More Elves lay among the fallen than Fíli had expected there to be, but there were not so many of them as there were Men and Dwarves, some of whom had been crushed by the weight of their own rams and war-boars when the animals died.

About halfway to the Gate, he glanced to the side, then stopped and stared. A dead warg lay not too far away, its jaws wrapped around the throat of a young brown-haired Elf-maid; her stiff hand still gripped the spear that she had driven through the beast's body, but which hadn't stopped it from crushing the life out of her, nonetheless. Her face was stoic and and pale, and yet there was a lingering terror in her lifeless eyes. He didn't know her, but he knew that she didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody deserved to die like that... but there they were, all lying around him with their last moments etched on their faces.

_...The will of kings..._ Fíli thought, then felt a wave of shame. _...No... no, this was Azog... this was... this wouldn't have happened if he hadn't..._

His mind began to race and his breathing grew heavy, and for a moment he felt as if his balance would fail him again. But he stayed on his feet and pushed the ragged thoughts away, then forced his eyes away from the Elf and continued on. He only wished now to get to the lights of the camp and, for a while, to put war and death behind him - and as he at last neared the Gate, the murmuring of voices drifted on the breeze towards him.

Stopping just outside the reach of the firelight, he searched the crowd for faces he might know, but all he saw were strangers caught up in their own relief of being alive and their grief for those who no longer were. Most were too busy to look up and see the young Dwarf approaching, others gave him a quick glance before carrying on with whatever business they were about. Dwarves, Elves, and Men alike were all rushing in and out of tents, passing around skins full of drink, cradling their heads in their hands. Some were seated on the ground, crying; others were lying beside them, unmoving.

An older Man sitting near one of the campfires gave a little yell of happiness and stood, holding his arms open to a young girl who was running in his direction. They embraced one another and the Man buried his face into her hair as she began to cry. Fíli watched them for a few moments, then looked over as a younger Man limped near, bound on a task of his own, then reached out, placing a hand on his arm. The boy fell back in a fright, his eyes wild with shock. At once, Fíli could see that this child was still fearing for his life, even though the battle had ended hours ago, and he held up his hand in a peaceful gesture. The stranger slid back, then stood on unsteady legs and stared long and hard at him.

"Are you hurt?" the boy asked, his voice almost too youthful to match the worry-worn expression on his face. "Do you need help?"

The continued swelling in Fíli's throat kept him from replying, so he simply shook his head. The boy nodded at him, then scurried off, returning to whatever business he had been about before the Dwarf had stopped him. Fíli watched him go into a tent nearby, then glanced off to the side. There, butted up against the Mountain and just to the right of the Gate-path, a particularly large and well-lit tent was set up. Outside it, billowing in the breeze, hung the blue banner of the Lake. He turned and made for it, but when he got to the closed flap he stopped and listened to several people within as they were caught up in low, intense conference. He couldn't hear much of what was being said, though he imagined that he recognized some of the voices.

All at once, a scream rose up behind Fíli and he turned, wincing at the pain in the top of his neck and a sudden dizziness that came over him as he did. There, not too far away, was the girl he had seen a few minutes before. She was on her knees now, and the older Man she had been so happy to see lay on the ground next to her as she clutched at his chest. His body was limp and lifeless, his mouth gaped open, and his eyes bulged; and as the girl clawed at his tunic it pulled up, revealing a livid swelling over the whole of his stomach.

The Man had bled to death on the inside, and his passing had come so quickly that the suddenness of it had sent the girl into a shock. A bloody-bearded Iron Hills Dwarf ran near and pulled her away from the body, then he let her continue to scream and cry into the curve of his neck as a male Elf draped a cloth over the dead Man's face.

Fíli's head began to spin and a panic was settling in his chest, and it felt suddenly as if someone had begun squeezing on his heart. The desperate need to escape from the moment came over him and he looked around, searching for a quiet spot to sit and try not to think. There were far too many people close by, so he stumbled away from the flap and made his way around the back of the tent, and there, sheltered from the biting wind and prying eyes, he sat down and leaned his head against a large stone. He took several long, deep breaths, and though he tried to stay upright, his body pitched forward and he landed on his chest on the ground. His mind continued to spin and his heart still raced, and as he tried to calm himself he listened to the now-closer voices from within the tent.

"We have not found any more alive," said one that was old and cracking with grief, and Fíli immediately recognized it as belonging to Balin. "And some we have not found at all."

"Then we should begin to gather the dead," a more robust, proud voice said.

"And do what with them, Lord Thranduil?" a rough voice asked. "We cannot bury them all."

_...Thranduil?..._ Fíli thought. _...He's alive... of course he is..._

After a long, silent moment, the Elvenking spoke up again. "We must burn them."

"Strictly speaking, we would not normally do such a thing," yet another voice spoke up - this one was Dwarven, but altogether strange to Fíli's ears. "It is not our way."

"We did so at Azanulbizar, if you recall, Dain," Balin said. "When the dead so outnumber the living, we have little choice in the matter. I would rather our people be sent to ash and smoke than end up in the bellies of the carrion crows and scavengers because we took too long getting them underground."

"Yes... yes, you are right, of course."

"And should we separate the Elves and Dwarves?" the rough-voiced person-Bard, Fíli now realized-asked. "Is it better that..."

"No," Thranduil interrupted. "My people and I came to this place seeking words with the Dwarves, that is true, but in battle, we were as one with them. The ashes of our dead may join theirs."

"Then so shall those of the Men of the Lake," Bard said.

There was the sound of a throat being cleared, then Dain spoke again. "Have you gotten any word of your son, Lord Thranduil?"

After another long pause the Elf spoke, though not to answer the question. "We will take our enemies' remains farther afield, so their smoke won't foul the air around the Mountain."

"Sledges shall be made with all haste to see to that," Bard said. "Lord Dain, I would ask that we may make use of your surviving mounts to haul them."

"Of course."

"And when this is all over..." Balin said. "Some decisions will need to be made."

"If you are speaking about the distribution of the treasure, there are greater concerns at the..." Bard began.

"I am speaking of a certain object that you have in your possession," Balin broke in.

"Yes, I see. It will, of course, be returned to you."

"Lord Bard and I are of the same mind," Thranduil said. "It belongs to the King Under The Mountain, whether he be dead or alive."

"Thorin lives yet," Dain said.

"He is fading fast," Balin's shaky voice followed. "He may not see morning."

Fíli took in a deep breath, then rolled onto his side and began to listen more attentively. He wondered, now, how many of his companions had survived thus far, how many would not last the coming days, how many would never be found amongst the hundreds of bodies littering the valley floor. He wondered if he, himself, might still die from his wounds - as the old Man had so suddenly done.

"He is still King until his last breath, Balin," Dain went on.

"And then?"

A silence descended, then Thranduil spoke. "This is a conversation that is best had between kin only," he said. "I shall see to the recovery."

"I will join you," Bard said after him.

"Your pardon, please, before you leave..." Balin said. "Bard, if you would go and find Bofur inside the Gate, he could lead you to..." his voice trailed off.

"Yes?" Bard urged.

"No... no, on second thought, Bofur has... well, he has other concerns on his mind at the moment. I will take you there, myself."

"Where?"

There was another pause. "To bring the young princes home," Balin said at last. "Go on ahead and tend you your business, I will join you soon."

_...The young princes...? _Fíli thought, and it took him a moment to realize that Balin was speaking of him and his brother.

"As you wish," Bard said. Then Fíli heard a shuffling like the flap of the canvas tent being opened, and the Man's voice grew further away as he left, presumably with Thranduil by his side. "I will send to the Lake for any who can tend to wounds or help recover the..." and with that, his words faded into the murmuring of the greater crowd beyond.

Shortly after, Balin spoke up again. "May I ask you something, Cousin?"

"By all means."

"When Thorin sent word to you, asking for you and your army to come to the Mountain, did he tell you that he already had possession of the Arkenstone?"

Fíli jumped at the word and sat up suddenly, pushing himself away from the tent and wincing in pain when his head hit the large rock behind him. He reached back and pressed a palm to his wound, then leaned forward and continued to listen in silence, though there were lights now dancing before his eyes and his ears had begun to ring.

"He did, yes," Dain said.

"And so you came armed for battle by virtue of that, alone?"

"I came because I was called for by the King."

"And, yet, you didn't come when he asked it of you a year ago. Why now?"

Fíli could hear heavy-booted footsteps pacing around the tent.

"That was a mistake on my part," Dain said after nearly a minute of silence. "I should have given my aid when he first asked for it, yes, but I feared for the failure of the attempt; I feared for the lives of my people, and for the entirety of Rhovanion if Smaug's wrath were to be kindled. I had hoped that without the support of an army, Thorin would decide not to go on his quest at all - that he would not risk his life and the lives of his kin for a trinket that would supposedly give him the right to rule a crumbling kingdom. I didn't account for his determination or his... stubbornness."

"Tell me, then... what should be done with that trinket now that the dragon is dead and the battle is over?" Balin asked.

"It belongs to Thorin, as it did to his grandfather before him. He fought his way across the world for it, would have died for it, had war not come at him from another side... I would have it remain with him, even in death."

"You have no desire for it at all, then?"

"None."

"Then I ask you, Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills..." Balin said formally. "Would you take the throne? Would you see this kingdom restored under your rule?"

Fíli's eyes began to water and his stomach to ache as he listened to his old friend speak of the rule of Erebor - - a rule that, for so many years, Fíli had been assured would someday be his. But still he could not bring himself to reveal that he was there, that he was alive; and that inability brought with it another wave of panic that he tried to force down.

"Why mine?" Dain asked, sounding taken-aback. "Surely, you would be..."

"With the loss of Thorin and the princes, you are next in line of succession," Balin said, cutting him off. "You are in direct descent from Dain the First, I am in descent from the younger line of Borin. Your ties are stronger than my own."

"Then let me ask _you_ something, Cousin," Dain said. "If I were to claim rule over this Mountain kingdom, would you remain by my side and offer me your council, as you did for Thorin?"

"Yes, of course. For all the good that council did him at the end."

"What do you mean?"

It took Balin a long while before he could answer this time. "You are aware of the... the fever that claimed Thror before the coming of the dragon?" Dain didn't answer out loud, but Fíli assumed he had motioned that he did know of it, as Balin went on speaking. "It did not end with his death, nor with the loss of Thrain. It was falling on Thorin, as well, at the last. Now, just between you and me, there are some that believe the King's Jewel, itself, had poisoned their blood, but..."

_...Some that believe..._ Fíli thought. _...Some... meaning me, meaning you..._

"But what?" Dain asked.

"But Thorin did not have possession of it before the madness began to set in. I had seen its beginnings before we ever left Ered Luin, but he would not listen when I spoke of it. I began to fear for him. I feared, even, for his sister and her sons. The young prince Fíli... had he not died, he would have been next in line for the throne, you know."

"Yes, I had heard that Thorin had named him his heir. He only ever had good things to say about the boy in our correspondences."

"And of young Kíli, as well, I imagine," Balin said.

"Him he spoke of with great affection," Dain said. "Never so much of his accomplishments, but of how he was such a joy to have around. Thorin told me that wanted very much for both of them to be with him when he reclaimed Erebor. It is just a shame that they were."

Fíli's chest began to heave and he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, but tears still made their way past and fell down his cheeks.

"Yes," Balin said softly. "But Fíli... he told me that he was worried about the sickness, himself. He feared that it was too strong in his blood to overcome, though he'd never shown any trace of it in all his young years. I tried to tell him that when he came into succession he would not fall to it as his forefathers had, but in all honesty..."

"You worried still that he would."

"He was so unlike his uncle," Balin's voice cracked. "But so was Thorin unlike his grandfather at the beginning."

Fíli's breath caught in his throat and he let his hands fall to his sides, then rested his head back against the rock again, now ignoring the pain that the action brought.

"Well, blood will out," Dain said. "But, as I told you, I put no claim on the Arkenstone, whether it is the instigator of a madness or just a pretty jewel. Thorin deemed it worth dying for, I do not. It is a symbol of our people, yes, but it is not worth more than our people, themselves. I would rather it be buried with the King than let the desire for it cause Erebor again to fall."

"And that right there makes you more worthy than any other who may now make claim on the throne," Balin said. "You have done well by your people in the Iron Hills, and you would do just as well by our people in the Lonely Mountain... and you are a fool, Dain, if you yourself cannot see that."

Dain laughed softly. "Perhaps I have become a fool in the years since we last saw one another, Cousin, but you seem to have gathered enough wisdom for the both of us. Regardless, whether or not I would take the throne is not for us alone to decide. Let the people speak, but only after the remains of war have been washed away. For now, we have wounded to tend to and dead to mourn."

The Dwarves in the tent continued speaking, but even as they did, Fíli's strength and resolve finally failed him and he slid sideways onto the icy ground, falling into an instant sleep.

There, on the edge of a dream, he saw himself still clutching what he now knew to be the Arkenstone; but as he watched, the jewel first dimmed then roughened and cracked, until at last it was a very ordinary-looking rock. Fíli threw it down, wondering why he had ever seen any value in it, then, looking up again, he saw his uncle and brother standing by his side. He opened his mouth to speak to them, but Kíli turned away while Thorin kneeled down and placed his fingertips gently on the dead stone.

_You would throw it away so easily?_ the elder Dwarf asked, and Fíli knew he wasn't speaking of the Arkenstone.

_We both know what comes with it, Uncle,_ he said. _And I love you... but I can't let that happen._

_I asked you to lead our people,_ Thorin told him, anger mixed with hurt rising to his eyes. _You are my heir. It is in your blood to sit upon the throne of Erebor._

_What is in our blood is a madness, and I cannot let myself..._

_You are the son of kings,_ Thorin yelled, standing.

_I'm my father's son,_ Fíli said quickly, and just before the dream faded and left him in a dark sleep, he looked over to see his brother smiling at him faintly. _...And that's all I'm meant to be..._


End file.
